First Prize
by Bob Wright
Summary: After inadvertantly costing Shermer High the title in a renowned academic competition, Brian again thinks of ending it. It's up to the rest of the Club to find him in time before he carries it out-unless a mysterious homeless man can help first...
1. The Last Chance

FIRST PRIZE

BY BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is dedicated to the memory of John Hughes, who more than most helped to shape who this author has become over the years. May he continue to inspire for years to come to all who care to be inspired by him.

The Breakfast Club and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of Universal City Studios and the John Hughes estate and all persons connected thereto. And now, sit back and enjoy the story...

* * *

"...Osman I was the founder of the Ottoman Empire, the Emperor is the largest species of penguin, the cosine of an obtuse triangle where x equals 4.3 and y equals...y equals...come on Johnson, you knew it all this morning; don't lose it now!"

With a low sigh, Brian Johnson thumped his head against his bedroom window. He'd been studying nonstop for the last two hours since he'd gotten home from school, but even that hadn't seemed nearly enough time for what he was about to undertake. Everyone was counting on him, and he wasn't sure he knew enough to deliver.

From downstairs came the sound he'd been waiting to hear, yet at the same time hoped he wouldn't have to hear; the grandfather clock in the den striking four thirty. Almost simultaneously, his door cracked open. "OK, it's time," his mother informed him.

"Right, be right down, Mom," Brian told her softly. He trudged slowly over to the mirror and straightened his tie, then fiddled with his shirt collar one last time. He stared at his reflection and tried to force himself to look confident. "You can do it, Johnson," he told his reflection, "You got this far, you can get to the top-I hope."

He took a deep breath and headed for his bedroom door. This was the moment he'd waited most of his life for, one he'd long thought would never actually come: the finals of the M.K. Simmons All Chicago Academic Competition, the be-all end-all high school contest of the entire Chicago metro area. Ever since his family had taken him to the finals of the event when he'd been eight, Brian had known he'd wanted to win it, to hoist the championship trophy aloft and know that he'd done it and had been the best. All through high school, he'd been on Shermer's teams, only to have them burn out in the first round for whatever reason. But this year had been different, and the team had managed to come together, and now they stood just one win away from Valhalla.

That was the good news. The bad news was, they'd have to win against mighty Lake Forest Central-the very definition of a dynasty. Nine years in a row, Lake Forest Central had carried off the crown, and pretty much all of those wins had been utter and complete blowouts. This year's edition, from Brian's own analysis watching them between Shermer High's matches, looked no less talented and deep. It was going to clearly be a challenge of epic proportions to topple them, and much as he wanted to feel confident, part of him still felt like the dream was impossible, that it was out of reach no matter how hard he'd try.

But they had to win somehow, he'd already long since vowed. Everyone was counting on him-not least of all his own family, who wanted the gold almost as much as he did-and he had a daily reminder of that coming down the stairs every day, much as he was now, for on the mantle, prominently displayed for anyone coming into the living room, were the pair of first place trophies his parents had won on the very last Shermer High team to win it all, twenty-six years ago. They had made it no secret over the years they wanted the family tradition to continue.

"And here comes the future conquering hero now," his father was clearly more than ready when he reached the hall, rubbing him on the shoulder emphatically, "Ready to bring the gold home to Shermer where it belongs, Brian?"

"Of, of course, Dad," Brian forced himself to nod more confidently than he actually felt.

"Give me a break," his sister abruptly snorted from the living room. While Mary had never gotten along well with Brian much of the time anyway, she'd been increasingly hostile all through the previous week as the competition had unfolded; the loss of attention almost certainly proving grating. "They don't stand a chance," she continued retorting, "No one can beat these guys, so why bother even showing up?"

"Now Mary, be charitable," her mother scolded her strongly, putting on her coat, "How would you feel if Brian told you your acting classes weren't worth taking? Get your coat on; we're just about ready to head on out."

"I don't see why I have to be dragged along to this," Mary continued complaining even as she complied with her mother's wishes. Brian tried to block her out as he hefted his own coat and followed his father outside. The sky overhead was a dark gray, matching the unseasonably cold weather for mid April. The news report last night had in fact predicted that there would be rain this evening that would eventually turn to snow. Brian hoped it would hold off until after the festival; given how the town had increasingly coalesced around the academic team the further it had gotten in the tourment, he wanted the possibility of a parade in case of a victory, much like Shermer High's athletic teams had always gotten when they'd won something big, to remain open. The visions of a parade flashed in his mind: yes, standing on a fire truck, waving at the crowds cheering at him...

"Brian, you awake?" his father tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh, uh, yeah," he said quickly.

"Well try and concentrate; you need to be at full focus for this," Mr. Johnson told him gently but firmly. Brian couldn't mistake at all the firm, pleading look in his father's eyes, the one that he knew meant he had already assumed the final match was going to be won, and anything less very likely would not be satisfying to him or his wife. He took another deep, nervous breath; as expected, more expectations that had to be fulfilled at all costs...

He tried the best to suppress any anxiety, though, as he climbed into the backseat of the car. The drive to Shermer High took no more than ten minutes. Scores of people had already shown up to wish the team off as the Johnsons' car pulled into a space right in front of the building. "All right, good luck," Mrs. Johnson wished her son in parting as he climbed back out, "You can do it, we know you can."

"You're going to choke, I know it," Mary told him sarcastically in parting. Brian ignored her-he'd gotten in too much trouble in the past when he hadn't-and started trudging slowly over towards the blue Shermer High shuttle parked in the fire zone. He scanned the knots of people milling around other cars in the parking lot. Many faces he recognized, but most notably, he couldn't find four particular familiar faces, faces he'd been especially hoping he would see before the finals were over...

"Guess who!?" a pair of hands suddenly covered his eyes from behind. Brian sighed in resignation. "Thank you, Matt, I didn't really need that, but thank you," he said calmly.

"I can never fool you anymore, can I?" Matt Martelli removed his hands. He was decked out in a loud red suit that, along with his usual thick-rimmed glasses, all but screamed nerd, a trait Brian had been bent on getting himself away from for some time now. Despite his standard nerdy appearance, though, Matt always lived life a bit on the wild side-so much so Brian had a feeling people wouldn't have guessed Matt was a frequent Dean's Lister unless he'd told them. This was Matt's second year on the team, and although not a leading member of it, he'd carved out a reasonably good niche for himself in that time. "I take it you're in a good mood today then, Matt," he continued as the two of them continued the trek to the shuttle.

"And why shouldn't I be?" Matt took a deep dramatic pause before grandly proclaiming, as if the information concerned something exceptionally major, "Amy Yetter said yes. So, I'm locked in for the prom."

"Sure, with her and who else?" Brian had to point out. Ever since eighth grade, it had seemed like Matt had had a different girlfriend almost every month.

"Oh you misinterpret me, my friend; I'm completely monogomous; always have been," Matt said with mock indignation, "I'm glad, though, I ended up with her in the end; out of the remaining uncommitted girls of the senior class, she was the best option. Which reminds me, who are you taking?"

"Um," Brian lowered his head a bit, "Uh, Matt, I hate to break it to you, but I'm not going. Believe me, I want to, but, well, you know how it is with me...I'm just not..."

"You're just not the material for dating. Yes, I've heard that close to four hundred and seventy-nine times now," Matt seemed like he'd been expecting this, "You know, Brian, it's very simple; all you have to do is merely..."

"Hold on," Brian held up his hand. The other members of the team were gesturing to them from in front of the shuttle. He quickly bustled over. This year's team had been very well assembled-so well assembled, in fact, that increasingly he was beginning to feel somewhat inferior to all of them, particularly after everything that had gone wrong over the last few weeks for him. Near the front of the shuttle and making the strongest gesturing was team captain Corey Jacobson-class president, salutatorian, and son of the long time Shermer High Simmons Competition moderator, who'd already locked down a highly valuable scholarship to UCLA. Like Brian, he'd been on the team all four years, and the two of them shared the drive to get to the top. Set to follow Corey out to the West Coast was his girlfriend, likely valedictorian and all-area basketball superstar Lori Troxell, who was right behind him with her arm around him. This was her third year on the team, and it had been a toss-up whether she or Corey would have been captain this year. For much of their time throughout the years, Brian had been neck and neck with her for the honor of having the highest grades in the class, but regretably the poorly constructed shop lamp had pretty much completely destroyed any shot he had of having that honor now, he knew with a heavy heart. And standing off to the side, rocking nervously in place, was the only junior member of the team. But Josh Wainwright had more than earned it; easily top of his class, he'd burned through the qualifying rounds with ease; indeed, for a few days Brian had been scared stiff that he'd been bumped off the team on account of Josh doing so well...so scared, in fact, that it had been for this that he had begun looking around for a gun, even before his shop project had crashed and burned, feeling he'd be unable to live with himself if he failed to make the team for one last try. Somehow, as he stared at the three of them now, he could feel his soul shrinking. They had accomplished so, so much more than he had; they all deserved to be here. Did he really belong...?

"Brian, snap out of it!" Corey shouted in his ear, bringing him back to reality, "I want to get us all ready."

"Oh, uh, right," Brian shook his head quickly.

"Just trying to get in the zone, Corey," Matt put an arm around his friend, "Either that or he knows what the speech is and doesn't want to be bored stiff by it."

"Matt, seriously," Corey raised an irritated eyebrow at him. "Everyone together," he pulled the five of them close, "All right, this is the moment we've been waiting for, and all I have to say is..."

"It's time to get on the road," came the moderator's voice from behind them. Corey's father was bustling towards the shuttle with the driver. A graying man with thick rimmed glasses of his own, Mr. Jacobson had announced the previous year that this would be his last tournament, coinciding with his retirement from teaching. Brian had the deepest respect for Mr. Jacobson, a physics teacher for Shermer High for thirty-six years, and considered it an honor to have served under him on the team. "Everyone ready?" the group instructor asked his team, a mixed expression on his face that conveyed that he was both thrilled by the gravity of what they could accomplish and sad that this would be the last time he'd be doing this.

"I was just about to get everyone pumped up, Dad," Corey complained.

"We know; that's why he showed up just now," Matt cracked. Brian had to concur with his friend; Corey's inspirational speeches, while well-intentioned, had thus far during the tournament been long-winded and rambling.

"All aboard then," the driver opened the door to the shuttle as a few loud supportive claps rose up from the bystanders not far off. Brian slid into the middle seat and buckled up. He gave the crowd one last scan as the door swung shut and, moments later, the shuttle started driving off. No, he shook his head, no sign of them. Although, perhaps they had already gone to the convention center. Hopefully that was it...

There was a tap on his shoulder. "Are you sure you're all right?" Matt had an unusual amount of concern on his face.

"Yeah, Matt, I'm fine, really," Brian told him quickly.

"I'm not so sure," his friend shook his head, dead serious now, "I know that look; something's on your mind."

Brian sighed; no way out of it. "We've got to win this, Matt, we've just got to," he confessed.

"Well, if we do, we do, if we don't, we've done pretty good anyway," Matt wasn't as set on it, "Why do we have to win it in your mind?"

"For one thing, for Mr. Jacobson," Brian gestured at their instructor in the front passenger seat, "He needs to go out a winner; after all these years he deserves that much. Plus," his head sank, "I need to do this for my parents. This is my last chance to show them I'm good enough..."

"Oh Brian, please don't start that again," Matt looked somewhat panicked now, "When you start talking like that..."

"You know as much as I do, Matt, they've lost faith in me after I blew the shop project," Brian told him, loudly at first, then softer at mid-sentence, not wanting anyone else to know how he was thinking, "With graduation two months away, this is my last chance to restore their trust now that valedictorian is out of the question," he gestured at Lori, with her arm around Corey in the seat in front of them, "If we fail tonight, it's gone for good, and I might have no choice but to..."

With a flourish, Matt reached into his friend's pockets and started digging around. "Matt, Matt, come on, I don't have the gun!" Brian protested at him, "I don't have the gun; Mr. Vernon took it off me after he found it; it's safely locked up somewhere, and I don't have a knife or poison or anything like that either, all right!?"

Matt merely took a deep nervous breath when he was satisfied Brian had no weapons on himself. "All right," he looked his friend right in the eye, "But promise me, please promise me, if we don't win, you won't try anything, please!? You scared me stiff when I heard what had happened with that gun; please don't go through this again. Promise!?"

"Sure, sure, promise," Brian said quickly. He glanced at the streets of Shermer streaming by out the window, praying he wouldn't have to go back on his word...

* * *

A half hour trip down Interstate 94 brought them into downtown Chicago, where it pulled up alongside the Chicago Convention Center. The audience was already streaming into the building in force, clearly bent on getting out of the rain now beginning to fall. Brian scanned the crowds. Still no sign of them. He was starting to wonder if they'd even bother...

"Who are you looking for, Brian?" a puzzled Lori looked over his shoulder, frowning.

"Uh, just some people I invited," he said quickly, not quite sure his team would understand the arrangements he'd made a few weeks ago.

"Strange, I thought everyone we knew had already said they'd be coming," she mused. Shrugging, she bustled after Corey as the group headed for the side entrance. Brian took one last look back. Nothing. Shaking his head, he rushed up to Josh, trailing behind the others. "Nervous?" he asked the junior. Josh nodded, looking very much so. "Good, we at least going into this cohesively," Brian told him, wishing there was some way he could quell the nervous throes in his chest. The group went inside the side entrance and weaved past several building staff members into a side room along the hallway to the stage. "All right," Corey said loudly, gesturing everyone close again, "As I was going to say back in Shermer..."

The door swung open again behind them. "Ah, Mr. Vernon, good of you to make it," Mr. Jacobson greeted the district superintendent-the last person Brian really wanted to see in person at the moment.

"You're five minutes late, Tom," Vernon grumbled to the team instructor, shaking the rain off his hat and trench coat.

"Traffic was heavy, Richard, and it is rush hour," Mr. Jacobson told him calmly.

"Whatever," Vernon shrugged him off. "All right, lady and gentlemen," he said firmly, pacing in front of the five team members like a drill sergeant, "Not bad making it this far. Now I hope you have enough left in the tank to finish the job. I don't need to tell you how big this match is for Shermer High; I checked before I came back here, and it suffices to say half the town's shown up to watch you. So if you blow this match," he glared them down sternly, "Not only are you letting the school down, and not only are you letting me down, you'll be letting the entire community down."

"Uh, Richard, I don't think that's going to encourage them that much," Mr. Jacobson tried to intercede, looking a bit uncomfortable at the way Vernon's "pep talk" was headed.

"I'm calling it as I see it, Tom," Vernon essentially shrugged him off. "So," he turned back to his school's academic representatives, "I expect a hundred and ten percent or more from each of you until the match is over. I expect nothing less from anyone who can get this far. All right, go to work."

"You heard him, guys, it's showtime," Corey gestured the others closer. They all clasped their hands together in a circle. "One, two, three..."

"BULLDOG PRIDE!" the five of them shouted in varying degrees of enthusiasm. They headed for the door...

"I'd like a word with you in private before you go out there, Johnson," Vernon unexpectedly stepped into Brian's path as the others filed out into the hall and held up his hand. He was frowning deeply, an expression that made Brian a bit apprehensive of what he might have to say. For years after entering high school, he had heard horror stories about Vernon's detentions, which he had run for years as a teacher and had successfully lobbied to continue running after his promotion to district superintendent a few years back. And while he'd found firsthand a few weeks back the worst stories had been exaggerated, there had been no denying Vernon had run a tight ship and felt anyone who landed with him on Saturdays was definitely a step below everyone who didn't. The look Vernon was giving him now was tinged with more than a little disrespect, bordering, he thought, on a small degree of outright contempt. "I'll be perfectly frank, Johnson: I don't think you really should be out there," Vernon told him sternly, "After you so blatantly violated the school's weapons code recently, I pushed Mr. Jacobson to take you off the roster. You should count yourself extremely lucky that he believes in you enough to want to keep you on, but I'm telling you right now, consider yourself on this team under my protest. I don't want a loose mental cannon like you possibly screwing up what could be the crowning moment of this school's academic system, so DO NOT embarrass me in any way, shape, or form tonight. Understood?"

"V-Very clearly, Mr. Vernon," Brian nodded quickly, eager to just get on stage and get the butterflies out of his stomach.

"I'll be watching," was Vernon's parting words, "Get going," he jerked a finger towards the stairs, a deep scowl welded to his face. Brian took a deep, worried breath, and galloped after his teammates. So many, many people to please; was it possible to please all of them? He could if they just won...


	2. Friends Unseen

"Six dollars admission, please," the ticket taker at the convention center's front doors extended his palm.

"Here you go," Claire Standish handed the man the necessary money and took the ticket from him. She shivered slightly as she entered the building. The temperature was dropping rapidly, and it was now as cold as it had been during the last big freeze in the Chicago area last month. Hopefully there wouldn't be that much snow when the competition ended; she had seen they were calling for it, and hoped it wouldn't make the trip back to Shermer treacherous.

She threaded her way through the crowds in the lobby, all the while searching for familiar faces. None were visible yet, though. Claire wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't seen any, though; none of her inner circle of friends really cared for academic competitions, even with Shermer High now in position to win it all, and she knew there was the good chance that...

She momentarily put the thoughts out of her mind as she entered the auditorium. Although there were still seats available, she took her place by the back wall, which still afforded a reasonable view of the stage. If everyone that had said they'd show up showed up, she knew they'd be probably by themselves, separate from their own cliques; even though they'd all reached an understanding with each other, she knew that didn't necessarily mean their friends would understand.

She let out a sigh as she glanced up at the for the moment deserted stage. Even if no one else did show up, she had to be there; indeed, anywhere would have been good tonight, given that the moment she'd known was coming for so long yet still hadn't wanted to come had happened earlier in the week: her parents had finally decided to file for divorce. And while Claire knew in her stomach it was for the better, given neither had been able to stand each other for years, the gravity of the pending separation still seared her to the bone. It was always brutal to realize that any love one's parents had had was irreparably gone; no doubt Allison must have felt the same way when her parents had split...

She glanced around for any sign of Allison or the others, but there were still no familiar faces visible. She glanced at her watch. A little under six minutes till the finals began. _"Well, maybe it was asking a little too much for us all to show up,"_she thought to herself. She flashed back to detention not that long ago; the five of them had agreed to go to the finals if Shermer High had made it; Brian had made it clear he would have appreciated it if everyone was up to it. Then again, given that the odds had been stacked heavily against Shermer getting out of the first round, perhaps the others had decided it hadn't been possible for the Bulldogs to reach the finals. Yes, she conceded, that was probably it; it was a good gesture, but it was asking too much; besides, would she REALLY be here herself if things weren't so utterly and irreversibly out of line back home...?

"Claire," came the sudden call from her left. She spun. Yes, indeed, it actually was...

"Allison," she waved the other girl over. So perhaps her assessment was wrong after all. "You came," she greeted her former detention cohort for a day.

"We promised Brian, didn't we?" Allison raised an eyebrow. Her expression grew somber. "Listen, I was looking through the paper earlier tonight, and I saw the notice in the back section. If you need someone to talk to...I know exactly..."

"I'm fine," Claire lied, raising a hand; maybe at a later time she'd be willing to go into detail about how she was feeling, but not in public with hundreds of people around, "Did you and Andy...?"

"He stopped by to get some refreshments in the lobby, he's...Andy, she's over here," Allison waved. Sure enough, the familiar face of Andrew Clark, clutching a pair of sodas and some candy bars, came weaving through the crowd. "Hi again, Claire," he greeted her cordially, "Good thing the state quarters were last night for me; we had to be here."

"Glad you kept your word to Brian," Claire looked around behind him. "No, I haven't seen Bender at all," Andrew had picked up her train of thought and shook his head emphatically, "But what do you expect; I'd wager he wouldn't be caught dead around this place-unless he gets the chance to go through everyone's pockets."

"He could actually be back in detention," Allison spoke up, "It might have been him that let the air out of Mr. Steinberg's tires on Wednesday; that seems like exactly something he'd do. Maybe Mr. Vernon caught him and..."

"No, wait, listen," Claire raised her hand. Somehow, over the loud din in the auditorium, a familiar voice could now be heard-two familiar voices, actually. She glanced intensely through the crowd. And indeed, over by the far row near the door, there was Mr. Vernon, furious, and right next to him was...

"He's over there," she pointed. She and her companions maneuvered through the crowd over to where the district superintendent and the familiar figure of John Bender were standing, approaching them just as Vernon gestured vehemently for Bender to put his arms in the air and started patting him down. "...Christ's sake, Dick, I don't bring pot everywhere I go!" Bender was protesting loudly, "What, do you think it grows out of my armpits or something!?"

"You watch your attitude with me, Mr. Bender!" Vernon snarled at him, looking disgusted when he apparently didn't find what he'd hoped to find, "And what purpose DO you have being here then, because I distinctly remember discouraging you at the beginning of the week from causing any trouble for this event!"

"Hey, for your information, Dick, I just wanted to see how we do tonight just like everyone else," Bender glared Vernon down, "Or do you have a chronic problem with me being in the same room as you in a situation where you can't exert your power?"

"Uh, Mr. Vernon," Claire raised her hand and stepped forward before things could get heated, "We all, well...we all sort of invited him."

Vernon's jaw would have hit the floor if it could have. "You what!?" he grilled her, incredulous, "You willingly invited this...this...this menace to society here, Miss Standish?"

"It was something we decided in detention the other week, Mr. Vernon," Andrew chimed in, "It was..."

"I don't care to hear any more," Vernon raised his arms, now looking furious again, "Let me just say, Mr. Clark, that I am sorely disappointed in you and these two ladies here. I would have expected much more rational judgement from the three of you. And you," he pointed a sharp finger at Bender, "I've got my eye on you tonight..."

"You're not so bad-looking yourself, Dick," Bender cut him off with a wry smile. Vernon glared irately at him and turned away, stomping back to his seat up front. "Nice, Bender, get the man mad before the finals even start," Allison raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hey, for your information, Reynolds, Dick started it; the man is a paranoid schizophrenic with iron balls the size of Alaska who can't trust anyone," Bender said defensively, "Everywhere I go, the man assumes I'm going to corrupt everybody or start something bad; you saw it yourself in detention. They should really put him in the nuthouse, maybe give him an anal probe if that'll get him back to some semblance of normalcy..."

"Yeah, we're glad to see you here too, Bender," Andrew rolled his eyes, "Truthfully, I'm surprised you bothered..."

"Well really, I don't know why I'm here either," Bender growled, "Because I certainly don't care for Johnson, and as for..."

"There he is now; Brian," Claire waved at the stage. Brian, however, seemed absorbed in his thoughts and didn't see the group; certainly the loud applause that drowned out her call didn't help either. "Well, I guess we'd better get back to where we were," she said out loud, "Hopefully we can win this one."

"It's going to be tough," Andrew looked hesitant as the four of them walked back towards the back of the auditorium, Bender noticeably trailing behind everyone else with a deep scowl on his face,, "Even most of Lake Forest Central's wrestlers are honor students; I faced two of them in the last meet we had against them last month. I hope Brian brought his A game tonight."

* * *

Any chance Brian had had of feeling any calmer vanished the moment he stepped onto the stage, jumping abruptly to the side as Matt chose to dramatically slide feet first onto the stage to loud applause from some of his many admirers in the crowd (including, noticeably, the afforementioned Amy Yetter, who gave him a standing ovation). Vernon certainly hadn't been lying when he'd said half of Shermer had shown up for the finals; a quick scan of the audience revealed more than a few families from town he knew either directly or in passing: the Griswolds, the Bakers, the Buellers, the Nelsons, the Walshes, the Ripleys, the Pages, the Russells, and the McCallisters to name but a few. He tried to suppress a gulp. Playing in front of familiar faces upped the pressure for him even more.

He tried to stare at the ceiling and ignore the crowds as he sat down in the second seat from the left at the Shermer High table, between Corey and Lori. He looked further back in the audience, squinting hard. No, he shook his head, no sign of them at all. Maybe he just wasn't as important to them as he'd thought. He did notice his family in the front row with most of his teammates' families. His parents gave him thumbs-up; Mary, on the other hand, merely gave him another scowl and clearly mouthed, "_You're going to choke." _He groaned softly; would only seeing him collapse make her happy? The way her face had absolutely lit up when he'd been forced to face his parents' withering shouts after he'd been sent home following the incident with the gun had seemed to aleady have confirmed this.

His attention was then distracted from the crowd as, on the left side of the stage, the Lake Forest Central team came walking out. They had the swagger in their steps that a nine-time defending champion would be expected to have, with expressions of supreme confidence on their faces. And they had good reason to be confident, for at the front of the procession was the talk of the Chicago area academic scene, team captain Jeffrey Martin, featured in both the Tribune and the Sun-Times for a perfect SAT score, committed to Princeton with a major scholarship, and already famous for having never gotten a question wrong during all four years in the competition. In the pit of his stomach Brian knew full well any chance Shermer had to win would have to include Jeffrey somehow stumbling at some point.

At the back of the line of the Lake Forest Central team, sitting down in the chair nearest to the Shermer side of the stage, was a familiar face he'd secretly been hoping to see tonight, almost as much as the rest of the Club's. She also had been in every competition since freshman year, but up till now, since Lake Forest Central and Shermer had never met directly in any matches Brian had participated in, this was the closest he'd been to her apart from watching her in action in the audience. He knew her name was Melissa from these past experiences, and there was just something about her that had caught his attention year in and year out. Tonight she wore an ankle length purple dress and what he guessed was a determined expression as she picked up her own personal finals program that every finalist got from its position on the table in front of her and glanced almost indifferently through it. Realizing he could now finally learn more about her, Brian picked up and opened his own program and scanned for her name. The information next to it read:

_Melissa Christine Winters is a senior at Lake Forest Central, participating in her fourth Simmons All-Chicago Academic Challenge. She has committed to Northwestern and will major in Physics, with plans to become a rocket designer for NASA. _

Brian blinked to make sure he'd read the information correctly. And indeed he had: she would be attending the same school AND have the same major as him. He glanced back over to the Lake Forest Central table. Perhaps there was a chance for something after all, if they shared the same interests...

_"No_," he shook his head emphatically, "_Get back to reality, Johnson; even with that in mind, you don't have a chance. You have nothing she wants; you have nothing any girl would want, and you know it..."_

"Buzzer check, please," came the voice of the moderator, noted University of Chicago history professor Tarquin Gotch, now standing over the Shermer table. At the far end, Josh activated his buzzer, which worked perfectly. The rest of the team did the same down the line, Brian's also working just fine. It was just about showtime. "All right," Professor Gotch nodded, satisfied, "Good luck to you all, Shermer High."

He bustled over to the Lake Forest Central table to check their buzzers as well. Despite his assessment of the situation, Brian couldn't help looking back towards Melissa again. She stared almost straight ahead with what looked now like a surprised expression, not even looking down as she pressed her buzzer, while her other hand laconically went through her long golden hair as if involuntarily. She appeared at least superficially to be exactly the type of girl he'd hoped to some day fall in love with. If only he wasn't so utterly inferior to her...

"Yep, she's sure one hot one," Matt remarked casually to his right, apparently having followed his friend's train of vision, "Maybe after the match..."

"Forget it, Matt," Brian shook his head, "It's simply impossible."

"But you shouldn't think..."

"Matt, read my lips," he leaned right in his friend's face, _"She...couldn't...possibly...like...me." _

"Well in the meantime could you two please forget about girls, because here we go," Corey impatiently hissed at them, for Professor Gotch was now tapping the microphone to get the audience's attention. "Good evening everyone," he announced, "I welcome you all to the finals of the fifty-ninth annual M.K. Simmons All-Chicago Academic Challenge." After pausing a moment for applause, he continued, "We appear to have a good match tonight, and let me introduce the finalists to you. First, to my right, the challengers, the Shermer High Bulldogs, coached by Mr. Tom Jacobson, and who include..."

Brian wasn't listening to the introductory spiel. He scanned the crowd one last time, hoping to see something he wanted to, such as a shock of red hair or a Shermer High wrestling jacket. But while there were plenty of those, he couldn't see the exactly type he wanted to. They weren't coming, he acknowledged to himself glumly. Perhaps he should have expected as much...

"Brian, wake up, for the love of God!" Corey shouted in his ear. He snapped back to attention. "Uh, what?" he asked.

"We were each ringing the buzzers when we were introed; what on Earth is on your mind this time!?" he demanded.

"Uh, just..."

"Never mind. Just please, I am begging you, don't nod off on us from here on," the team captain all but pleaded with him. "I swear," he mumbled softly under his breath, as if he didn't want anyone to hear him, "I should have insisted we..."

"Shhhh," Lori leaned over Brian to hiss her boyfriend to silence as Professor Gotch finished introducing Lake Forest Central. "...first round, toss up questions will be worth two points; there will be no penalty for a wrong answer. In the event of an incorrect response, the opposing team will have a chance to answer on their own; if they are incorrect, the question will be discarded. The team that correctly answers a toss up question will then be given an additional question worth an additional point and will have ten seconds to solve it, during which time they are allowed to confer. And without further ado, let us begin."

He drew a card from his lectern. "First question, which captain in the Union army fired the first shot at Fort Sumter, but is much more remembered today for the erroneous credit of inventing..."

Brian knew the answer to that. He started to press his signaling button-but at the other table, the ever alert Jeffrey Martin had already beaten him to it. "That would be Abner Doubleday," he told the moderator once his teammates had handed him the microphone.

"And that is correct; two points to Lake Forest Central," Gotch commended him, "For an additional point: Doubleday is more accurately the inventor of the unique transportation system in this West Coast city."

The Lake Forest Central team conferred for about five seconds before a smiling Jeffrey took the microphone back. "San Francisco; he patented their cable car system," he announced.

"We only needed the city; correct again," Gotch nodded, discarding the card and picking up another one, "In astronomy; this moon, Neptune's largest, shares its name with a popular Disney king."

Again, any attempt Brian might have had to answer this one was instantly thwarted as Lori was quicker on the finger next to him. "Triton," she guessed.

"Indeed; two points to Shermer," Gotch nodded, "Extra credit: what interstellar cloud lying beyond the planets is said to be home to millions upon millions of comets?"

Brian gulped; this one he didn't know. He reluctantly shook his head as the Shermer team huddled. Corey sighed, disgusted, after seeing this gesture. "Any thoughts?" he asked the rest of the team.

"Uh...I'd say the Keplerian," Josh guessed.

"No, Copernican, got to be Copernican," Matt reasoned.

"Oort; trust me, it's the Oort Cloud," Lori picked up the slack again.

"Sure?" Corey grilled her.

"Uh," she didn't look completely sure now, "Eighty percent."

"I still say Keplerian," Josh pressed emphatically.

"How about we flip for it, then?" Matt started digging through his pockets.

"How about I flip out if I don't get a concrete answer!" Corey almost shouted as the timekeeper called out, "Three seconds." "Brian, anything at all!?" he grilled him.

"Go with Oort, I guess," Brian mumbled; it sounded familiar if nothing else. Corey seized the mike and all but shouted, "Oort Cloud!" at the top of his lungs seconds before the buzzer went off.

"That is correct; anyone point for Shermer," Gotch proclaimed, pointing to the scorekeeper to make the addition. Brian sighed in relief, but still put his hands over his face. Already he was floundering, even after making the right call for the moment. If he sank any further, he'd start losing his teammates' trust even more than he could wager he already had. He dared to peer down at the front row. His parents' expression was neutral right now, which could have meant anything, although he couldn't help wondering if that was just masking some kind of deep disappointment already. And to their right, near the end of the row, Mr. Vernon was definitely scowling in his direction as he got up and started walking up the aisle towards the back of the auditorium, his attention apparently fixed on something back there.

"_Keep it together, Johnson, keep it together,"_ he tried to tell himself, "_You've got to get through this in one piece if we have any chance of winning this..." _

* * *

"He's really worried," Andrew mused from the back of the auditorium.

"How can you tell?" Claire looked over his shoulder for a closer look at the Shermer table.

"I know that look," Andrew pointed straight at Brian, "It's the one you get when you feel you're not up to the challenge. This one guy I wrestled three weeks ago..."

"Jake the Snake?" Bender cracked behind him.

"Will you stop!?" Andrew upbraided him. "He was about ten pounds lighter than me, yet they were still letting him go against me for whatever reason. And as we set for the first break, there was just this look of utter fear in his eyes, that he knew he couldn't beat me and he felt embarrassed to be there. Long story short, I swept him clean, and Brian looks the same way right now."

"Well maybe after this round ends, we could go up and see if we could offer him some moral support," Allison proposed, taking a sip of the soda Andrew had bought for her, "If he sees us here, maybe..."

"And you really think Dick's going to let me or anyone connected with me anywhere near that stage, Reynolds?" Bender snorted, "The man's going to..."

"Be quiet, young man!" the old woman sitting directly in front of him turned and whacked him in the shoulder with her purse, "I am trying to enjoy this game!"

"Hey watch it, Grandma, you don't want to...!" Bender started to snarl at her. Claire stepped firmly in front of him and pressed two fingers sharply against his lips. "Don't, please, just don't, for me if for no one else," she told him sternly.

"Oh yes your worship," Bender said sarcastically, "After all, why shouldn't everyone just bow to...?"

"Well, Mr. Bender," it was Vernon again, storming over with a deep scowl, "why am I not surprised half the people in the back row here," he gestured along it, "Seem to be complaining that you're disturbing them just now when I asked them?"

"Well if that's what's bothering you, Dick, why not just go outside so you don't have to look at me," Bender retorted, prompting Claire to put a hand over her face and growl in frustration.

"I'm warning you, buster; one more step out of line tonight, and I'm calling for security to toss you out of the building," the superintendent warned him, "And the same might just go for everyone else who had the stupid idea to invite you here in the first place," he glared at the rest of the group, "So don't let me hear another word about anything going on back here, period."

"Wait, before you go, Mr. Vernon, if we could, during the next break..." Allison tried to present her suggestion to him, but a steamed Vernon was already stomping off. "Well, he's really ticked off already tonight," she remarked.

"Oh, I'm not surprised," Bender actually seemed rather confident despite the warning he'd just been given, "Word going around is that Dick made a five hundred dollar bet with his counterpart on the other side over who'll win this, so actually, I wouldn't mind if we lose; anything that makes the creep miserable is up my alley."

"Well you might not care, Bender, but we certainly do," Andrew frowned him down, "Because even if it means nothing to you, Brian deserves this win."

"Absolutely," Claire added a glare of her own. She glanced back up on the stage. "Just stay focused, Brian, you can do this," she whispered some soft encouragement, hoping good would somehow come out of it.


	3. Heartbreak

Brian slouched forward in his seat, feeling quite down. He jammed hard on the buzzer as another question was posed, but once again the indominable Jeffrey Martin, already with ten correct questions so far, beat him to the punch and promptly made it eleven as the bell to end the second round rang out. He shot a forlorn glance at the scoreboard off at stage left, showing the sad truth: 56-11 in Lake Forest Central's favor. It was going to take a miracle to come back from this one-but a miracle he was determined to find...

He glanced back over at the Lake Forest Central table as the Shermer team trudged off to the side of the stage for one last pep talk from Mr. Jacobson. Almost immediately, there was a swishing of golden hair on the far end as Melissa abruptly turned away to look at the audience. She had seemed to be looking over at the Shermer table a lot during the evening, he'd noticed-which might well explain why she'd only answered one question thus far-but he knew it couldn't have anything to do with him, not any chance in the world. She did also seem somewhat less enthused than her teammates, maintaining a neutral expression that contrasted with their exuberant ones, clearly feeling the title was already locked up for a tenth straight year. She had to be type that held off celebrating until victory was assured, he reasoned. At least they shared that aspect if nothing else. His gaze also fell in the front row. His family looked diasppointed, and he couldn't blame them, much as he wished they weren't; so dominating had been Lake Forest Central's performance so far that he'd been completely shut out. If he didn't get at least one answer right between now and the end...

He tried to put that terrible thought out of his mind as he joined his teammates around their instructor. "All right, you're doing pretty good, considering how good they are," Mr. Jacobson tried to assure his team, a melancholy strain on his face knowing he only had five more minutes to do what he'd done for so long.

"Just come out and say it," Josh lamented, "We're terrible; we don't belong here."

"No, of course you belong here," Mr. Jacobson tried to cheer him up, "All of you've come this far..."

"And that's why we're going to finish it," Brian found himself saying out loud without even realizing it. "We're not dead yet; let's go out and..."

"Brian, I want to win as much as you do, but let's be realistic," Lori tried to reason with him, "We're going to need at least ten questions right in five minutes, and hope they get at least one wrong, preferably more. Do you realize the odds of that? We did good, but..."

"We're not giving up," he said firmly, a steely glint coming into his eyes, "Mr. Jacobson's going out a winner, by any ethical means we can manage."

"Well Brian, I appreciate that you feel that way about me, but..." the teacher started to say as the judges stood up and waved them back to their table. "Right, you heard him guys, let's do the impossible!" Corey was at least enthusiastic still. He leaned close to Brian as they sat down and whispered in his ear, "That's what I want to hear."

"Your father deserves nothing less from us for all he's done for us and Shermer High over the years," Brian whispered back, nodding. He caught sight of Matt over Corey's shoulder, shaking his head and mouthing, "_It's only a game, Brian_; _does it really matter how it ends?" "Tonight it does, Matt," _he mouthed back. He glanced back at his parents in the audience. They tried to mask their disappointment with large fake smiles and thumbs-up gestures at him. In his heart, he knew any chance for them to love him beyond this point hung on making the impossible dream reality.

"May I have your attention," Professor Gotch spoke into his microphone, "It is time for the final round. The clock will be set at five minutes; only toss up questions will be asked. A correct answer will gain the team in question five points; a wrong answer will bring about a penalty of the same amount. The team ahead after this round will be crowned champion. Both sides set?"

The Lake Forest Central team (noticeably excepting a still apparently indifferent Melissa) cheered in agreement; the majority of the Shermer team merely raised their hands wearily. "Let's just get this over with so we can go home and figure out what went wrong," Josh mumbled in defeat at the end of the table.

Brian couldn't stop himself from flashing a glare at the junior. He seized his signaling button with a flourish as Gotch gestured for the timekeeper to start the clock. Five minutes to either glory or Perdition. _"P__lease God, let this work somehow," _he begged in his mind.

"First question," Gotch consulted the card, "During the First Barbary War, General William Eaton led an ultimately aborted attempt to overthrow this Tripolitan ruler who had taken American ships..."

Brian's heart leaped; he knew that answer. He frantically pressed down on the button and was ecstatic to see his light come on for the first time all match. He gestured for the microphone. "Bashaw Yusuf," the words rolled off his tongue in a flash, desperate to get them out in case they made a snap judgement someone else had buzzed in first.

"And that is correct; five points to Shermer," Gotch nodded, "Next: this largest of shark species feeds solely on plankton, having..."

Within seconds, Brian found himself ringing in successfully again. "Whale shark," he breathed, glancing sideways at the clock: four minutes and forty seconds for at least eight more right answers.

"Correct again. Toss up in entertainment: this supposed Chinese magician, the most famous illusionist to die performing the bullet catch, was actually an American by the name of William Robinson."

Brian lunged for the button, but the familiar sound of Jeffrey's buzzer sounding instead rang out. He suppressed a sigh; just when they seemed to be on a roll...

"Ching Ling Foo."

There was an abrupt silence from Gotch. "Uh...that's, that's incorrect," he seemed shocked that the hithertofore unstoppable Jeffrey could have possibly messed up; a loud shocked gasp indeed rose up from the Lake Forest Central contingent in the audience, "Um, Shermer, you have a chance now; any guesses?"

Corey was on top of the buzzer in a flash. "Chung Ling Soo," he proposed, nodding hard as if he already knew he was right. He flashed Brian an encouraged look that clearly said, _"Let's do it." _

"And that's correct," Gotch regained his composure-mostly. "Next, a math problem, so you may use your calculators here..."

* * *

"Well, at least they're finally showing some signs of life," Andrew remarked from the back of the auditorium.

"Why bother is my question; it's clearly already too little too late?" Bender shrugged, holding out a finger at the old woman as she reached for her purse again, glaring at him.

"Better late than never, and at least Brian can go home happy that he got some answers in," Allison wasn't watching the action at the moment, leafing instead through her own personal program from the front concession stand. "I'm surprised he'd've chosen Northwestern; surely a lot more bigger colleges would have gone clamoring for him."

"It'll all about resale value, Reynolds; after what happened that landed him with us, his stock went down through the floor," Bender remarked.

"Bender, come on," Andrew flashed him a glare, "He's a human being after all." He looked over his girlfriend's shoulder. "Hmm, looks like he'll be in the same class with that pretty girl that keeps looking over at him. Maybe..."

"Forget it, Clark," Bender interrupted yet again, "You know Johnson's incapable of holding a relationship with..."

The purse came down on his head this time. "And if you open your mouth again, young man, I'll do a whole lot worse!" barked the old woman. Enraged, Bender raised his hands into claws as she turned back around, forcing Allison and Andrew to step into his path to keep him from acting out what he was planning. "Now what's going on?" Claire came hustling over, having taken a trip to the restroom in the intervening period.

"Nothing, except they're trying to make a last ditch comeback that can't possibly work given how deep a hole they dug themselves in," the criminal coolly explained, starting to look totally bored now, "I can't see why we don't just bail now; there's no..."

"We promised Brian we'd stay to the absolute end," Allison said firmly. She turned her gaze back to the program. "Half of them on both sides seem to go be going out of state," she commented, "the funny thing is, I thought for years I'd love nothing better to move as far away from here once I graduated myself, but I ended up committing to Loyola because, well, it just felt I'd be more comfortable there. The world outside Chicago might beckon, but sometimes it just seems so..."

"Overbearing, yeah," Andrew nodded, "I had some doubts about committing to Iowa State myself, but their offer was too good to pass up; besides, my family wanted it, with how nationally renowned their wrestling program is."

"I wish we'd met earlier; maybe I would have looked for somewhere out there to go," his girlfriend shook her head sadly.

"You can always come out to visit on weekends if you have the time," he assured her, "And I'll be back in town for the holidays, and the first few weekends. Yep, much as it's time to face the world, it'll be a little hard to let go of Shermer."

"I beg to disagree; I'd like to get as far away from here as possible," Claire countered, "Probably I'll transfer somewhere south or west after the first semester to wherever has the best design program; right now I'm just too close to..."

Her attention was caught by a series of claps from more than a few people seated nearby. She turned and almost fell over when she saw the scoreboard. "Oh my God, they closed the gap to ten points while we were talking!" she exclaimed, pointing, "It's not over yet!"

"I say it's still a futile last-gasp effort," Bender still wasn't buying it, but even he looked surprised at the abrupt turn of events.

"Maybe not," Andrew stared at the Lake Forest Central table, "They're looking scared now. If we're going to win this, I'd say we've got them right where we want them right now."

* * *

Brian's confidence level was rapidly going up again-although not quite enough yet to defeat the nervousness, which was kept alive by every glance at the clock, now closing in on exactly two minutes to go. But the impossible dream was still alive, and another sideways glance showed the Lake Forest Central team was in total shock that such an insurrmountable lead as the one they'd had at the start of the round had all but evaporated in a matter of three minutes. Thus, half of them seemed to not be paying attention as Professor Gotch continued with the next question: "...an Inuit fishing village over the years, this was designated the capital of Canada's Nunavut province upon its creation in 1999." None of them made an immediate jump for the button once he'd finished, giving Brian a chance to successfully ring in himself. "Iqaluit," he proclaimed, feeling the confidence rise a little bit higher, knowing he'd gotten his fifth right answer of the round. He glanced down at the front row. Now his parents were definitely smiling for real. Just two more right answers, he told himself, staring next at the scoreboard-now 61-56 in Lake Forest Central's favor-and the clock-a minute and forty-five seconds to go. And now his teammates seemed energized themselves, as if they now all believed it was possible they could pull off the improbable. They hunched over their buzzers as Gotch continued: "This brown African bird is well-known for its giant nest, which can support a man's weight."

Brian admittedly didn't know this one, and Josh, who apparently did, was beaten to the draw by Melissa on the other side. "the hamerkop," she answered, looking calmer than her teammates, as if the situation didn't faze her as much as it did them. Despite now falling two answers behind again, Brian still managed a small smile; it was good that she got more chances to answer herself.

"Correct. In history: this pirate was popularly called the 'gentleman pirate' owing to his status as a wealthy landowner before turning to robbery on the high seas."

Jeffrey was the first one to hit the buzzer this time. "Charles Vane?" he guessed, but Brian could see the severe doubt on his face, as if he knew he was about to goof up again.

"Incorrect," Gotch shook his head, "Shermer team?"

Corey rang the buzzer as hard as he could. "Stede Bonnet," he all but shouted, looking ready to jump out of his seat in delight.

"Correct. I'm sorry, you can't call time out," Gotch informed the Lake Forest Central team, frantically trying to signal that they wanted one. Brian tried to keep his composure amid the euphoria he was now feeling; a minute twenty left, tie game now...

"Halley's Comet famously appeared over this decisive ancient battle."

It was Melissa again stepping up for her teammates on the other side. "Hastings," she whispered into the mike.

"Correct. In mythology, Eurydice was the wife of this lyre player, who traveled to the the underworld in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to bring her back."

Lori was first this time. "Orpheus," she spoke up after Brian handed her the mike.

"Correct, one minute to go," Gotch announced. The audience was now murmurring loudly; the finals, Brian knew, hadn't been this exciting for years. Even Mr. Vernon wasn't scowling now, he saw (although he wasn't exactly smiling either, his expression more neutral than anything, although with the superintendent, that was usually as good as a smile most of the time). _"We're going to do it," _he told himself deep down, feeling very confident now. Lake Forest Central was reeling; it was only a matter of time before they toppled...

"...in film, this 1925 Sergei Eisenstein classic recalls the famous uprising on this Russian battleship."

This time Jeffrey was first again. "Battleship Potemkin," he spit out, looking relieved.

"Correct." the moderator nodded. Brian sighed in frustration; couldn't they just give up? He looked again to the scoreboard: 71-66, forty-seven seconds left...

"Meteorology; male names were first given to Atlantic hurricanes in this year."

Josh hit it first. "1979?" he spoke up, not looking completely sure.

"Correct," Gotch nodded. Josh breathed a huge sigh of relief, as did Brian. 71-71, thirty-three seconds left...

"Religion: the creative being of this ancient religion is Ahura Mazda."

One of the Lake Forest Central players was first now. "Uh, Shin...no, uh...wait..."

"Five seconds," Gotch warned him.

"Uh...Zoroastrianism, yeah."

"Correct." 76-71, sixteen seconds left...

"In athletics: the highest branch of the minor leagues, Triple A baseball is currently comprised of these two leagues."

Matt beat out Jeffrey to the buzzer. "The International League and the Pacific Coast League," he proclaimed, clearly enjoying himself now.

"Correct." 76-76 now, about eight and a half seconds to go. Brian's heart couldn't take much more of the suspense...

"In chemistry: named for the inventor of the periodic table, this radioactive element is labeled as atomic number 101."

Brian jammed both thumbs down on the signaling button; the periodic table had long been his specialty. He was ecstatic to see his buzzer light up. His heart leaped in delight as he gestured for the microphone. The dream was going to come true, Shermer was about to win it all, and he was going to be the hero. He seized the mike, turned to the audience, with hundreds of eyes now staring right at him...

...when, perhaps because of this, his mind abruptly went completely blank. The answer, on the tip of his tongue mere milliseconds ago, now was buried under a blank slate of confusion. He strained to remember, but no sooner had he than he heard, seemingly in slow motion, the buzzer ring to end the game. "I'm sorry, too much time was taken," came Professor Gotch's voice, also in slow motion, "The correct answer was mendelevium. That will be a five point penalty for being unable to answer, and that is the end of the match; winner and still champion..."

The microphone slipped from Brian's hand to the table. His lip was quivering now, but he found himself unable to move any other part of his body. No, it didn't happen, he thought desperately, horror overtaking him, it couldn't have just happened that way...!

But there was no way to deny it, emphasized by the loud cheers from the Lake Forest Central fans in the audience, and the claps as his opponents exchanged celebratory high fives. And he knew in the pit of his stomach there was no escaping it. The dream was dead as just as quickly as it had seemed possible. Shermer had lost just as it was about to win.

And it was all his fault...

He was too numb to bother turning when he heard a now furious Corey shouting in his ear. "...the hell's the matter with you!?" the team captain was berating him, "We had them right where we wanted them; we had them! Why the hell couldn't you keep your fingers off the buzzer if you weren't going to answer!? Well!?"

"Corey, stop, you're not helping him!" came Matt's desperate plea. "Brian, listen to me, it just wasn't meant to be!" he pulled his friend's head to the side, panic on his face as Brian registered him. Matt grimaced as Corey picked up his chair and slammed it to the floor in frustration with a loud crack before continuing to plead, "Please, just trust me on this, it wasn't meant to be!"

But Brian wasn't paying attention. He couldn't take his eyes off his family in the front row. He'd failed them, he knew, his heart sinking right to his ankles; there was no mistaking the look of absolute disappointment on his parents' faces as they shook their heads in resignation, while Mary merely smiled in savage triumph. He'd done it now; he'd just killed any chance that they'd ever be able to love him again. One mistake had ruined everything...

And if all this wasn't bad enough, Vernon now abruptly stood over him. Completely apoplectic, the superintendent was screaming at him at the top of his lungs, but Brian was too caught up in his own thoughts to hear much except small snippets, even when Vernon suddenly shoved him hard back into his seat and screamed phrases including, "LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU...CHOKE ARTIST...DISGRACE TO OUR SYSTEM...EMBARRASSED ME AND EMBARRASSED ALL OF SHERMER...WHY I EVER LISTENED TO MR. JACOBSON ON LETTING YOU STAY ON THIS TEAM...SHOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU THE GUN BACK AND LET YOU FINISH THE JOB...!" right in his face. Why no one was stopping him from shouting such things out loud, Brian didn't know. But he didn't care, because deep down he knew Vernon was right: he HAD just disgraced the school and the whole town, as well as everything about himself.

And in that very instant, he knew exactly what he had to do...

But it had to be done alone, far away from anyone who'd want to stop him. He found himself slowly inching backwards and sideways towards the wings. The trophies would be handed out in a few minutes, but he had no intention of staying; after this, he didn't deserve any trophy. The Shermer team was starting to regroup by Mr. Jacobson, disappointment clearly visible on their faces. He'd gotten their hopes up for nothing, he thought sadly; he didn't deserve their forgiveness even if they could somehow manage. He reached the edge of the stage and waited for the split second none of them were watching him, then checked to make sure his family wasn't watching as well in the front row. Then he turned and bolted as fast as he could off stage. Blindly he ran up down the stairs and up the hallways, trying to find the nearest exit, wiping the tears out of his eyes as best he could while knowing he couldn't stop them and didn't want to stop them. Finally a door came into sight. He pushed it open, nearly knocking over a janitor entering the building. "Watch it, kid!" he snarled at the boy. Brian paid him no heed. He glanced up and down the streets, now covered with a light dusting of snow, which was falling rather heavily now that the temperature had dropped low enough for it. No sign of any buses, which was disappointing, for a bus could end it very quickly. A taxi was approaching near the curb, however, and it could at least take him reasonably far away before anyone could stop him, and give him time to formulate a backup plan. He flagged it down with wild arm gestures. "Take me as far as this'll cover; it doesn't matter which direction," he instructed the driver quickly, thrusting forty dollars at him.

"You OK there, kid?" the driver took the money, but looked concerned.

"I'm fine, now please, just go!" Brian shouted at him. He jumped into the back of the cab, ignoring the sound of the convention center door slamming open behind him, and Matt's terrified shout of, "BRIAN, NO, DON'T!" He lowered his head as the cab drove off, seconds before a frantic Matt could grab hold of the taxi's door, and broke down completely; the pain of the horrible failure was just too much to otherwise bear. If only the gun hadn't gone off in the locker and exposed his earlier attempt at ending it to everyone, he thought furiously; then Shermer would have won the tournament easily, without him hindering the rest of the team. After all, they'd all earned their places, unlike him. But at least it wasn't too late to finish what he'd planned, even if it couldn't be with a gun. There were plenty of other ways to finish the job; he just had to find the most convenient one...


	4. An Unexpected Hope

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The original character first appearing in this chapter was written with John Candy in mind, for your benefit; after all, for one thing, it wouldn't be a true Hughesian tale without a Candy character making an appearance. Moving along, then...

* * *

"Something's wrong," Claire mused, worried, staring up the stage. The trophies were being presented now, but the Shermer team was in definite disarray, huddled in a group talking loudly and worriedly amongst themselves at the edge of the stage even as their trophies were handed to them, making many members of the Lake Forest Central team-as well as the third and fourth place finishers, who were also receiving trophies-stare at them in wonder. And most notably, Brian wasn't among them, Mr. Jacobson taking what would have been his trophy instead (Matt also wasn't present either, having run off stage a few minutes earlier with a visibly panicked expression). "He'd be out here by now if it wasn't something major," she added, deep concern crossing her face.

"Getting the last question wrong was probably a huge blow to his psyche," Andrew nodded knowingly, "But he shouldn't really be upset, much as I understand he would be; what they did in those last few minutes really was something amazing..."

"Shhhh," Allison waved him off, "I'm trying to hear what they're saying." She squinted at the stage as a formally dressed man came up and started talking to Mr. Jacobson, the other remaining team members listening in rapt attention, "OK, they can't find him in the building...um, something, something...janitor says he ran into him going outside...he wasn't wearing a coat...uh oh," a look of deep horror crossed her face, "You guys know what that means?"

"You mean...?" Claire's eyes went wide as she realized what her former detention associate was saying.

"Yep," the brunette nodded gravely, "If not getting a shop lamp to work caused Brian to bring a gun to school, think of what this is going to do to him."

"Then we've got to do something, quick, before he goes ahead with it," Claire immediately bustled for the side entrance.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, hold on there, princess," Bender interceded, rushing up and waving his hands to bring her to a halt, "First off, this really is none of our concern, if you were smart enough to think of that; second, if he left the building, I hope some of you have an idea of where to look, because I refuse to go rushing into the heart of downtown Chicago on a wild goose chase..."

"Even though Brian would have done the same for you right now if you had run off, Bender!?" Andrew glared him down, "We owe him. Now if you're not coming, that's fine, but don't stop the rest of us, right?" he glanced at his girlfriend, who nodded firmly, "So make your choice now."

He started off with the girls towards the exit. Bender sighed in frustration. "I'm going to regret this..." he mumbled under his breath, but followed them anyway. "So what IS our first course of action then, oh fearless leader?" he griped to the wrestler.

"Couldn't hurt to go backstage," Andrew reasoned, "Maybe someone back there saw him and heard something..."

"Excuse me," a voice rose up. They'd reached one of the hallways to the back of the convention center. Another formally dressed man was seated at a table in the middle of the hall; he rose up as they approached and held up his hand. "Can't come back here; teams and families only," he informed them.

"This might be an emergency," Claire tried to explain, "We're friends with someone on the Shermer team; we think he might be..."

"Sorry, rules are rules," the man shook his head, "You'll have to wait till..."

"You heard what they said," Bender abruptly grabbed him by the collar and lifted him a few inches off the ground, "They demand to go backstage. Now I don't agree with them either, but I say you let them, or I'll have to smash your head clean out your..."

"Bender, no," Claire shook her head disapprovingly at him, "Put him down, now."

"I thought you wanted to go backstage, sweetheart?" the criminal asked her sharply. When she shook her head harder, he sighed and lowered the man to the ground. "But we weren't here," he added to him, following the others into the restricted area. "You wanted this," he continued griping to the wealthy girl, "So you basically signed on to the..."

"Not by threatening others," she glared back, "The last thing we need is for Mr. Vernon to get wind you've..."

"Speaking of which," Allison pointed quickly down the hall. Indeed, there was Vernon, looking miserable as he stood before Lake Forest Central's superintendent, digging through his pocket. "...can't believe I let you talk me into this, Marty," he grumbled furiously, not noticing his students behind him as they flattened against the wall around the corner out of his sight anyway.

"This was your idea, Richard," the Lake Forest Central superintendent reminded him, "Next time, if you don't want to lose the money, don't make the bet. And it really did no good screaming at the kid who got the wrong answer; have they found him yet?"

"I'm sure he'll turn up soon," Vernon pulled some money out of his wallet and handed it over, "Here, five hundred dollars like I promised. And don't think of me as an ogre, Marty; it was just a spur of the moment thing; I'm a lot calmer now, and I'll tell him as such when he does show his face again."

He did admittedly look somewhat regretful, but that was countered by an equally intense look of disgust that was also lodged on his face. "Yeah sure, Dick," Bender muttered under his breath, visibly unconvinced of the superintendent's sincerity.

"Shhh," Allison hissed at him-a bit too late, for Vernon perked up, having apparently heard something. The four of them quickly slid further around the corner before he could turn around. "What?" the Lake Forest Central superintendent asked.

"Just thought I heard something," Vernon said dismissively, shaking his head, "Well, good luck, Marty; better go rally the troops and get them back to Shermer."

"Good luck, Richard; good match tonight," his counterpart said in parting. Vernon could be heard walking back towards where his students were standing. "In there," Claire quickly noticed the restroom behind them. The four of them hastily slid inside and shut the door seconds before Vernon would have turned the corner. A loud bang rang out in the hall; the superintendent had apparently kicked one of the metal garbage cans nearby in frustration. "...damn you, Johnson," he could be heard muttering in total disgust as he walked by the bathroom, but mercifully did not go inside, "Could have taken Irene to the Caribbean with that money and gotten her off my back about how she thinks I do nothing for her anymore! And where the hell did you run off to now!? You know the field trip guidelines as well as anyone else! When you do show up again, there's going to really be hell to...!"

The rest of his rantings were lost as he walked out of range. "Can't blame Brian for running after taking that tantrum from him earlier," Claire shook her head sadly.

"But the good news is, we've got Dick dead to rights for gambling," Bender looked as if he'd just won the lottery, "Tell me one of you was recording that somehow, because..."

"Quiet," Andrew elbowed him in the ribs. Sobbing could be heard from the back of the bathroom. The wrestler cautiously stuck his head around the corner. A tearful Matt was kneeling in front of the closest sink to the wall, praying. "...please God, I'll give you anything you want, don't let him kill himself!" he was pleading to the Almighty, "We've been best friends since second grade; I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him! Please stop him somehow, I beg you...!"

Visibly moved by this, Andrew hesitated for a few seconds before walking over and tapping Matt on the shoulder. "Huh?" Matt jumped a little as he turned. "Oh, uh, Andy," he greeted him with recognition but not exactly intimateness, "I'm surprised you're here."

"I promised Brian I'd come," Andrew told him.

"We all did," Claire leaned around the corner. Matt frowned when he saw who all was there. "All of you?" he seemed puzzled, "Why would Brian...?"

"It's kind of a long story," Allison explained, "Nothing interesting enough to make a movie or something out of, but anyway, would you have any idea where he might have gone? We're worried about him too, now that we've also figured out..."

The bathroom door swung open. "Come on Matt, we're getting ready to head on out," Corey stuck his head in.

"You!" fury etched itself solidly on Matt's face as he leaped to his feet, "You drove him to it! I'll kill you...!"

He lunged towards the team captain. "Whoa, whoa, easy!" Andrew tried to get between them, "This isn't going to get Brian back, you know!"

"He pushed him too hard!" Matt roared, pointing an accusing finger at Corey, "He was bent on winning at all costs, and he didn't care...!"

"Now that's not true!" Corey shouted back, "I wanted to win, yeah, but...!"

"Well he's right Corey," Lori shook her head firmly behind her boyfriend as everyone filed out of the bathroom, "You didn't have to shout at him after he missed the last question. We were all disappointed, but that really was out of line."

"I know, I know!" Corey clutched his hands to his face, "I didn't mean to shout, it's just...this meant as much to me as it did to Brian. I'm sorry if I hurt him; it was just the spur of the moment; I..." he started sniffing himself, "I didn't mean for anything like this to happen! Yeah, maybe you're right," he admitted somberly to Matt, "Maybe this is my fault; I couldn't live with myself if he does kill himself for this. What are we supposed to do now to make it right!?" he slumped his head against the wall, "Here I am, class president, 3.8 GPA, and I don't know what to do to help him. I just feel so helpless..."

"Well what CAN we do?" Josh piped up nervously from behind them, "We'll be pulling out in five minutes, and after the way he blew up after the match, I don't think Mr. Vernon'll be open to staying longer."

"Wainwright, if you care that much about what Dick thinks, you can go..." Bender started to retort. Claire shoved a hand over his mouth before he could complete the insult. "What Bender here's trying to say," she continued, shooting the criminal a disapproving look, "Is that when life's at stake, sometimes you have to go outside the regulations. I propose we all go out and find him before he does do anything bad."

"Hmm," Corey frowned her and her companions down, "I don't know, really. Like Josh said, Mr. Vernon's not going to be happy if we walk out now; there's no telling what he might do when he finds out. And besides, I'm not really sure if...I mean, why Brian would even want to be with...well, why you four of all people would care for..."

"Oh I see, because I'm who I am, I'm not good enough to be within a hundred yards of you, is that it, Jacobson!?" Bender glared at him, "Why am I so not surprised!? You brains always act like you own the whole school; it's a miracle Johnson even bothered trying to see the light in detention. Well then, you and the rest of your precious honor roll losers here can go and...!"

Andrew elbowed him hard in the ribs again. "Not helping!" he muttered through gritted teeth at the criminal. Turning back to Corey, he said as calmly as he could manage, "Look,I know that maybe the four of us aren't the people you'd normally put your trust in-I can understand now after some of what I've seen lately that maybe some of you have suffered at the hands of some of the people we ourselves tend to hang out with-but we care for Brian as much as you do. Please, trust us, we want to help you, and we'd have a better chance of finding him if we worked together on this. Please?"

"Um...well...I..."

"Come on, Corey; it's for Brian," Matt leaned close to him, his eyes all but pleading the team captain to accede, "He's right; trust him."

"Well..."

"Corey," Lori put a hand on his shoulder, "For Brian." Corey paused for a moment, then nodded softly. "Yeah, you're right," he conceded to the wrestler, "The more of us out there, the better the chance we can stop him from doing something terrible to himself."

"If he hasn't already," Matt lamented. Allison patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. "Any of you know where he might happen to go when he's in the city?" she asked the rest of the Shermer team. They shook their heads in unison. "Well, it doesn't really help much, but I guess he went out that door there when he left," Corey pointed to the one at the end of the hall, "It is the closest to the stage."

"That's a good enough starting point," Andrew nodded, "Here's what I propose: you guys go south, and we'll go north," he informed the academic team, "Call us if you see or hear anything with him. Here's my cell number," he dug out a scrap piece of paper and pencil and scribbled it down. Handing it to Corey, he waited until the team captain handed him his own cell number in return. "OK, if we don't have anything in an hour, we meet back here and call the cops, if someone else hasn't already by that point. Just let your father know so he won't worry."

"I think Mr. Vernon'll worry, though," Josh still looked uncomfortable at the prospect of what could be awaiting them if Vernon reacted as badly to what they were about to do as he'd theorized.

"You need help," Bender derided him, ignoring Claire delivering latest elbow to his ribs, "Well, let's get this over with, then."

"Good luck," Matt pleaded with them, waving goodbye as he followed his teammates into the room they'd initially entered earlier in the evening to get their coats, none of them noticing the outline of a figure standing just around the corner, apparently listening in to everything that had been said.

"Same to you," Andrew called back, also not noticing the figure, as he pushed open the door to the street. A thick blast of snow blew inside. "Oh this is going to be lovely!" Bender continued complaining. Chicago was now blanketed by about three inches of snow, and it was coming down very hard.

"Well on the plus side, this does mean everyone could be stuck here in the convention center if the roads are too bad," Allison pointed out, "That could buy us and them more time. OK, I forgot, who took the group photo in detention?"

"I think I did," Claire rummaged through her purse, nodding when she pulled out a group picture of they and Brian. "This should help when we ask around."

"Let's get cracking then; sir," Andrew took the picture and jogged over to a hot dog vendor who was operating nearby, "Excuse me sir; have you seen this boy within the last, oh, twenty minutes or so?"

He held up the picture and pointed to Brian. The vendor shook his head after a brief glance. "All right, thanks," the athlete told him. He shook his head at his associates. "Better keep on going, then."

* * *

"This is as far as the dough'll take you, kid," the cabdriver pulled over to the curb, "There's about sixty-seven cents change..."

"Keep it," Brian quickly hopped out of the cab, slamming the door shut as the driver started to question whether he needed another coat. He started shivering intensely as he glanced around at the street signs. The fare had taken him twenty-five blocks; he'd still prefer to get farther away, though, to prevent any interference.

He galloped aimlessly up the street, trying to at least for the moment maintain his composure so no one passing by would try and help if they saw him crying. Still no buses appeared to be out and about, and even though he was in the heart of Chicago, there appeared to be no gun shops around. He felt frustrated deep down; why was it so hard to find a way to kill himself...?

"Hey, kid, come here," came a gruff voice to his left. Brian turned to see an unshaven man pointing a barely concealed gun at him from the alley he was passing. "In here, now," the hoodlum ordered, jerking a finger, "No shouting. Hand over the money, right..."

"Certainly; here, take it, take it all," Brian stepped forward and thrust his wallet at the man, "I don't need it any more. Take this too," he removed his watch and put it on the man's hand, "It'll get something on the market; something a lot more than I'm worth. And don't let the fact I'm giving you what you want stop you from pulling the trigger; go on and do it. Come on, go ahead, shoot me," he gestured at his mugger to pull the trigger.

The mugger, however, looked confused and more than a little frightened now. "Um, I'm not so sure I'm THAT desperate for money," he said slowly, "Maybe if I..."

"Come on, you jackass, are you chicken!?" Brian unexpectedly screamed at him, seizing the gun and slamming it into his chest, "You've gotten this far, now finish the job! Kill me now, damn it, KILL ME!"

The mugger backed away, definitely terrified now. "Uh, just remembered kid, I, uh, got a, uh, dentist appointment to take care of," he mumbled, tossing Brian's wallet to the ground at his feet and breaking into a run, "I'll, uh...no hard feelings, huh?"

"Then give me the gun, damn it!" Brian shouted at him. The mugger kept on running anyway. Brian sighed in frustration, seizing his wallet nonetheless. No matter, though; a way would present itself in due time.

He exited the alley and kept walking up the street. His teeth were chattering now, and his muscles were beginning to lock up, the temperature well below twenty and dropping now. But he willed himself to go on. He certainly couldn't go back; he'd never be accepted anymore where he'd come from.

How much time elapsed before he finally he came to a stop and took stock of his surroundings, he didn't know. He saw he was in a section of the city with lots of low-end tenament buildings stretching on into the distance-or at least as far into the distance as the severely limited visibility allowed. He glanced up at the nearest one, a six story structure at least forty feet tall. A smile crossed his lips. A fall from that height should be instantly fatal. Then again, he felt frostbite setting in without a coat as well. Freezing to death would also be quick and painless.

And that settled it, he decided. He'd go up to the top, and if he didn't freeze to death in an hour, he'd jump. Either way, it would be over quickly and no one could stop him.

He bustled into the alley next to the building and reached for the lowest rung to the fire escape. Grasping it, he pulled himself up and climbed up to the top. His body felt like an icicle as he reached the roof and slid over to the edge. Good, he thought to himself, he probably didn't have much longer, then. He slid over to the edge and looked down. Visibility was poor through the swirling snow, but the sidewalk still looked quite hard through the several inches that had fallen on it. As long as he chose the right dive, he'd probably break his neck on impact. Satisfied, he slid down and rested his head on the ledge, eager for the end to come either way.

Something abruptly started licking his face. He spun to see a yellow Labrador inches away from him, eagerly licking away. "Go on, shoo, get out of here!" he ordered it, trying to push it away.

"Keema, over here," came another voice from the other side of the roof. Brian turned to watch the dog lope back towards its owner, a large rotund man-not all that dissimilar-looking from Mr. Griffith the shower curtain ring salesman who'd moved to Shermer not long ago, only with brown hair instead of red and without the mustache. He was dressed in a shabby, worn-out overcoat and rumpled fedora, and was lying on top of an old mattress with an umbrella opened over his head, providing him some protection from the increasingly heavy snow. "Hi there," he waved to the boy, "Just enjoying the weather up here. People might complain about snow a lot, but Keema and I find it pretty soothing, don't we Keema?" he rubbed the dog lovingly. "Name's Bill Stanpovalichki, incidentally enough; yours?"

"Brian Johnson, if it's really any of your business," he snorted back, not at all in the mood for conversation at the moment.

"Good to meet you, Brian Johnson," Stanpovalichki stretched and rose up, "So, what brings you up here?"

"I really don't think that's any of your concern, Mr. Stan...Stan..."

"Stanpovalichki."

"Stanpolicekey..."

"STAN-POV-A-LICH-KI," the man spelled it out for him, "Can't understand why no one gets it." He walked over to where Brian was slumped. "You must be cold with no coat on."

"I'm just fine."

"Well, I do have a spare in my trunk over there..."

"I DON'T WANT A COAT, YOU OLD FOOL; I JUST WANT TO DIE IN PEACE!" Brian roared at him. He sniffed loudly, the pain of his failure bubbling back up again. "Die, huh?" Stanpovalichki looked a bit concerned now. He leaned against the ledge next to the boy. "Well, I'm here, and I'd be willing to listen."

"Oh yeah, like there's anything you can do to fix anything!"

"Well, Keema and I may not have any permanent residence these days, to be honest," the man admitted, "But it doesn't take a roof over one's head to make one helpful. So tell me, Brian Johnson, what's got you all worked up to want to kill yourself here on this roof?"

Brian sighed, seeing no way out of it. "If y-you must know," he began, his teeth chattering involuntarily out of control now, "I just failed everyone I know. And I can't live with that. I -g-guess you've never h-heard of the Simmons All-Chicago Academic C-C-C-Competition?"

"Actually I have; fine, fine event," Stanpovalichki nodded. For whatever reason, Brian couldn't help noticing, the cold wasn't bothering him at all. "Let me take a guess here that you didn't win it this year?" the homeless man posed to him.

"They would have if it wasn't for m-m-me," the tears welled up again as he forced himself to relive the horrible moment again, "I know m-m-mendelevium's atomic number; I don't know what happened, why I just blacked out. But it's t-t-too late now," he couldn't control himself anymore and totally broke down, "I let everyone down; my family, my school, my whole t-t-t-town..."

"And you really think killing yourself is going to make that better?" Stanpovalichki asked him, worried.

"Don't you get it!" Brian roared at him again, furious the newcomer didn't bother trying to understand, "I worked every waking hour of my life to win that tournament! Without that crown, I am nothing! Truth is," he broke down in hysterics, "I know now, I always have been a nothing."

"Now you don't really believe that. I'm sure a nice bright young man like you..."

"...who can never come through when it counts the most with anything!" he interrupted the homeless man, "I have nothing to show for eighteen wasted years! I d-didn't belong on that team, I know it for sure now! They had no use for a washed up has-been with nothing more than a B average who can't even put a s-s-s-simple stinking lamp t-t-t-together!" He seized a tin can lying nearby and flung it away as hard as he could in frustration at that equally painful memory.

"And how do you think your loved ones would feel about this?" Stanpovalichki asked, "Surely they're all worried for you now, since I guess they don't know..."

"Like who!" Brian struggled to keep his compusure, "Like my parents, who I've g-g-given my heart and soul for, knowing I could never really make them happy, and knowing now they'll never love me again! They could only love me when I was the best, and I know now I can never be the best! My friends-what friends, really; I c-c-c-c-cost them the gold; they have no reason to speak to me again! And that'snot including the people I thought were my friends, who didn't even bother showing up at all! And don't bother playing the girlfriend card either; I don't have one, and for your information, no girl could ever p-p-p-possibly love me; I'm just not good enough! They all have no reason to care for me anymore; truth is, I'm not worth caring for, never was!"

"Oh come on now..."

"SHUT UP!" Brian screamed at him at the top of his lungs through his chattering teeth, "YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND; I'M A FAILURE; I'M WORTHLESS; I'M A T-T-T-T-T-T-TOTAL WASTE OF LIFE! AND I JUST KEEP HURTING EVERYONE I KNOW EVERY TIME I FAIL THEM, JUST LIKE I'VE ALWAYS FAILED THEM! THEY'D ALL BE HAPPIER WITHOUT ME, UNDERSTAND!" He let out a loud sob and slumped to the rooftop, the tears coming in rivers now. "Yeah, they'd all be happier without me," he rued, "In fact, they'd all be happier if they'd've never met me in the first place. Not now, not before, not ever."

Silence filled the rooftop. "And you really think that about yourself?" Stanpovalichki was sober now.

"I KNOW it," Brian glared at him, "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone when the end comes. And don't call the cops, either."

He could hardly move now, his body going into lockdown mode; the end was probably no more than ten or twenty minutes away, not enough time for any help to be any good. "If you insist," Stanpovalichki shrugged in resignation. "Come on, Keema, might as well leave the kid to himself like he wants," he gestured to the dog, waving him towards the fire escape. Brian leaned over the ledge facing hte street again, glad to be on his own again. He couldn't help overhearing Stanpovalichki asking his pet, "What'dya think, Keema?" After a brief pause, in which the dog made no sound at all, the homeless man added, "I thought the same, my friend; I know it's a bit cliched to do that, but in this case, I think the situation warrants it."

"Huh?" Brian turned around, but Stanpovalichki had already left. Shrugging, and also shivering harder than ever now, he stared down at the street below, desperate for the end to come as quickly as possible...


	5. Soul Searchings

"...and you just let them walk off!?" a furious Vernon upbraided Mr. Jacobson outside the convention center as the snow continued pouring down around them, "You just let Shermer High students walk off into the heart of Chicago, in the middle of a snowstorm, on John Bender's word!? Have you completely blown every fuse in your head, Tom!?"

"First off, it was Andrew Clark's suggestion, not John Bender's," Mr. Jacobson responded calmly, "Second, Corey said he needed to make up for yelling at Brian, and I completely respect that. And the point, Richard, is..."

"The point, Tom is this school district has very clear guidelines concerning the supervision of field trips," the superintendent glared him down, "While I sincerely hope we find Johnson as soon as possible, the point is, he shouldn't have run off in the first place."

"Maybe if you hadn't chewed him out, Richard..."

"Enough," Vernon raised his hand, frustrated, "We're not doing anything constructive yelling at each other like this. So I'll make this perfectly clear: you do know your son's number?"

"Of course; I make sure Corey has his cell phone on every time he goes out."

"Good. Because if he and everyone else, Johnson included, aren't back here in exactly one hour," Vernon leaned ominously in his employee's face, "then first thing tomorrow morning, Ed and I will strongly consider putting an ad in the paper for a new teacher, effective immediately."

"For your information, Richard, Rooney's word doesn't hold any sway with the school board any more," Mr. Jacobson told him, starting to look very frustrated with his superior now, "If you haven't noticed, they've essentially blocked him out after he wasted that whole day a few weeks ago chasing after Ferris Bueller over nothing..."

"I said get everyone back here, Tom, right now," Vernon growled sharply at him, strong finality in his voice. He turned and strode away (leaving Mr. Jacobson to shrug and walk off around the corner, presumably to take his superior's advice regardless and phone Corey), marching over to the front door, where the rest of the Johnsons now stood, staring anxiously up the street. "I'll tell you one thing," he greeted them crankily, "When he does show his face again, he is in deep, deep trouble. He's already got one detention for making us wait it out here through this," he gestured up at the increasingly heavy snow, "when we should have been back in Shermer an hour ago; if he's not back by midnight, he'll be spending every single Saturday with me for the rest of his career at Shermer High."

"Have you heard anything yet?" Mrs. Johnson was starting to look quite worried, "Ralph and I tried his cell phone; he's not picking up."

"Four times," her husband added, concern starting to etch on his face as well, "But I can't understand; why would he feel the need to run like this? What's he so afraid of that he can't bring it to us?"

"Well for one thing, I...hey!" Vernon barked loudly. For Keema had appeared and was now sniffing at the superintendent's leg. A low growl escaped the Labrador's throat, as if it could tell the person it was checking out was a scoundrel. "Go on, get out of here, you mutt!" Vernon shouted, waving his arms wildly.

"Keema, over here," came Stanpovalichki's voice from up the street. The homeless man took hold of his dog's leash as he approached the group in front of the convention center. "What seems to be going on here?" he asked, a gleam in his eye, as if he did already know who he was talking with.

"I don't really think our business is any of your concern, you tramp. So take a hike," Vernon coldly jerked a thumb up the street.

"It's Bill Stanpovalichki, if you don't mind," the homeless man grimaced at the insult, but maintained a calm demeanor.

"Well, Mr. Stampinyourface..."

"STAN-POV-A-LICH-KI," he spelled it out. "So," he turned to the Johnsons as Vernon rolled his eyes in disgust and stormed off into the convention center, apparently not wanting to be anywhere near the homeless man, "What seems to be the problem here?"

"Um, Mr...whatever you said your name was, I'm afraid we're not really..." Mr. Johnson started shaking his head, also not looking entirely confortable to be talking to a tramp.

"Sir, please, I can tell when someone's deeply worried over something, and it's clear right now you and your wife here are scared to the core," Stanpovalichki said firmly, staring right at him, "If there's anything I can do to help, I'd like to help, and just because I don't have a roof over my head doesn't mean I can't be of any help. So...?"

"Well, all right, if you insist, but I can't see how you'd be much help," Mr. Johnson sighed, "It's our son; he was in the academic competition in there tonight," he gestured back at the convention center, "He ran out after he got the last question wrong and we lost the championship match; they're still looking for him. And we're starting to get really worried now; he apparently didn't take his coat, and it's certainly getting colder out here," he shivered noticeably, "As we were just saying though, we can't understand why he'd feel he'd have to run. And why am I telling you all this?" he frowned, "Unless you happened to have run into Brian in the last few minutes, I don't think you'd be able to..."

"Oh, you never know," Stanpovalichki said wryly, hooking Keema's leash around a fire hydrant nearby, "Tell me, Mr...?"

"Johnson, Ralph Johnson."

"OK, Ralph, if I can call you Ralph, this Brian, sounds like a pretty reasonable kid..."

"Most of the time, yes," Mr. Johnson nodded, looking somewhat more at ease with Stanpovalichki now, "He's a very hard worker most of the time; usually Mercedes and I have a lot to be proud of with him," he nodded at his wife, "Lately, though, he's started slipping a little; he failed a big project in shop very recently for whatever reason, for instance. And now this has happened on top of it."

"I see," Stanpovalichki mused, "Well Ralph, if I may ask, what was your childhood like? Anything like Brian's?"

"Well, sort of, yes," Mr. Johnson confessed slowly and cautiously, "I pushed myself to be top of the class, but I never could quite get there, and the family was never quite too happy when I came up short, my father would always say that..."

He stopped and seized up, fear flashing across his face. "That, uh, that's really as far as I'd like to go, if you don't mind," he said quickly.

"Let me guess, though," Stanpovalichki folded his arms knowingly across his chest, "Your father got violent with you whenever you didn't, shall we say, go all the way?"

"How...?" Mr. Johnson looked surprised.

"Oh, just because I don't have a roof over my head doesn't mean I'm blind to the world," the homeless man told him, "So, Ralph, let me theorize that since, as you basically confessed, you were abused every time you didn't perform up to snuff at home, you became a sort of perfectionist in life, am I right?"

"Well, I...I wouldn't...I wouldn't call it perfectionism," Mr. Johnson stammered, "It's...it's a bit more complicated than that..."

"Oh I'm sure it is, but I think we all get the basic gist. So then, what about you?" Stanpovalichki turned to Mrs. Johnson, "Anything in your past that might have rubbed off on your son?"

"Why should I tell you anything?!" she was beginning to look freaked out at Stanpovalichki's deductive accuracy.

"Because, I'd like to see your son safe as much as you do," Stanpovalichki stressed, "And perhaps knowing where you and your husband are coming from just might answer some of your questions."

"Are you insinuating Ralph and I caused this!?" she snapped at him, "We love Brian...!"

"Oh I'm sure you do," Stanpovalichki nodded, "Luckily, it's very rare to find parents who can't find any affection for their kids, and the fact that the two of you are worried for him right now's a positive sign for you. The question is, though, have you told him lately that you love him? If you haven't, maybe it's his assumption that you don't. Maybe he thinks you can only love him if he can deliver you straight As each and every time. And that's a pretty terrible mindset for a kid to have if you ask me."

"Well that's...it's another..." she was struggling to maintain her composure, the weight of the homeless man's words starting to visibly weigh on her.

"Ralph, Mercedes," Stanpovalichki put his arms around them, "You have to ask yourselves, what's the true price of gold? I don't think it should ever be our children's happiness. Maybe your son'll never be top of the class or win something big like this tournament, but isn't it enough just to love him for who he is, without having to put the onus on him to achieve everything you did, or to succeed at what you didn't when you were his age? Nothing can change the fact he's your son; I think that alone calls for unconditional love. What do you say?"

He had apparently gotten his message across; both Johnsons were now hanging their heads, horrible guilt spreading across their faces. "There were nine of us in the family," Mrs. Johnson spoke up softly, finally answering his question, "Each of us fighting for attention. And I knew that as the middle child, I needed something to really stick out. So I dedicated myself to being the smartest one around, figuring they'd have to love me the most for that. I'd spend hours reading every book I could get my hands on, sucking up every fact I could, trying everything I could to be smartest one around, even...even though I...I lost a few good friends along the way, when they said I'd...I'd become too unbearable for them anymore. But I...I didn't care, I had to be the smartest to get the attention. And now, it looks like I haven't stopped trying to...all these years later...oh God Ralph, what have we done!?" she started sobbing.

"Good, you're taking the first step," Stanpovalichki patted her sympathetically on the shoulder, "Remember, all it takes is those magical three words to make everything all right with a kid, so when you do find your son, I think all he'd want from you is you telling him he means the world to you, champion or not."

He started to walk off, then came to a stop. "Actually, now that I remember," he said, a smile spreading across his face, "I ran into a kid about fifteen minutes ago up that way," he pointed north up the street, "Kind of sad looking, mumbling tearfully to himself that he didn't think anyone cared for him anymore."

"Where, what street!?" Mr. Johnson pressed him, relief and panic on his face.

"Sixty-Eighth, I think."

"Thank you, sir; you've been more of a help than I'd've imagined," Mr. Johnson shook his hand wildly, "We'll be on it right away."

"Mary, go find Mrs. Martelli and stay with her till we get back; call us if you hear anything about your brother," her mother gave her a kiss before rushing after her husband towards the parking garage across the street, the both of them frantically dialing 9-1-1 on their cell phones. "Wait, you can't just leave me here like this!" Mary shouted after them, to no avail. She roared in frustration as they disappeared into the parking garage and kicked furiously at a nearby snowbank. "Every single time, it's all about him, him, him, him HIM!" she bellowed angrily to no one in particular, stamping her foot on the ground, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!"

"Oh now, I'm, sure you don't mean that," Stanpovalichki bent down to her level, frowning, "I can understand why you'd be jealous if your brother's as good in the classroom as he seems to be, but he's still your brother-only one too, it seems. Can't you appreciate him for that?"

"Do you know what it's like having him suck up all the attention!?" she glared in his face, "You don't know what I go through, whoever you are!"

"Well, I can understand where you're coming from; that would be hard for most of us," Stanpovalichki nodded, "And I can see why you'd think you're living in his shadow, and how that could feel like a burden for you; everyone wants to feel appreciated. But your parents love you too, I can tell you that much, and if you were the one lost in the city right now, I can tell they'd leave your brother behind to go all-out and look for you too."

"What do you know!?" she wasn't buying it, "You probably never even had a brother!"

"Actually, I did, and I never tried to get to know him, and you know what happened? He had a fatal heart attack at age thirty-three," Stanpovalichki wiped away a tear, "I've felt horribly guilty since then that I never got to know him. Don't make the same mistake with your brother."

"But the point here, you bum, is...!"

"The point is, unfortunately, that if you can really only think of yourself when your brother's life may be hanging in the balance right now," he frowned at her sternly, "then maybe you don't deserve any extra attention from your folks. Think it over, why don't you?"

He glanced up the street as another figure appeared around the corner. "Ah, good old Tommy Jacobson," he exclaimed, although he made no effort to alert the teacher to his presence, and Mr. Jacobson was looking the other way anyway, "I could have guessed he'd be involved with all this. He always did know how to make the kids enjoy learning..."

"So what?" Mary snorted at him, visibly still not convinced of his advice.

"So what? My point this time being, there can be so much fun in learning if you give it a try, so much you can do if you know more," Stanpovalichki told her with a shake of his head, "Too many kids today don't seem to care. So I'd give your brother credit there for..."

He stopped abrutply and pulled out his watch. "Actually, if you don't mind, I think I'll be heading on off now," he told Mary, "I've got something really, really important to take care of at ten tonight; don't want to be late for that. You can go on and go with whoever your folks asked you to find-and think over what I told you, please. It would be terrible if you ended up the way you seem to be heading now when you reached your parents' age. Come on, Keema, we have work to do."

He unhooked his dog from the hydrant and bounded up the street, disappearing into the snow just as Mr. Jacobson came bustling up to Mary. "Where'd your folks go?" he asked, looking around for them.

"They went off to look for him," she told him, still looking embittered, "Some homeless guy named Standonyourhead or something came by and talked them into..."

"Hold on," Mr. Jacobson was frowning, "What was his name again?"

"Standonyourhead, or..."

"Stanpovalichki? Bill Stanpovalichki?"

"Yeah. He said he knew you."

"Well, yes; he used to live down the street from me," his frown deepened significantly, "But...it couldn't possibly have been him you were talking with, not possible at all."

"Why?"

"Because Bill Stanpovalichki's been dead for five years..."

* * *

"It's been forty-five minutes, it's ten below out here, and none of you are willing to listen to any semblance of reason," Bender griped loudly to his associates as they trudged through the deepening snow deeper into the heart of Chicago, "Do you really think there's any chance that...?"

"OH SHUT UP!" the three of them shouted simultaneously, fed up after he'd been at it for close to a half hour.

"Oh I see, because I'm the criminal, I'm all wrong," he continued complaining, wrapping his coat more tightly around himself as a sharp blast of wind whipped up, "Well then, I say Reynolds isn't the only basketcase among you right now."

Allison turned to tell him off, but noticed a figure through the snow on the other side of the street before she could. "Hang on a minute," she held up her hand and bustled over towards the person in question. "OK, I don't know, but while we're waiting," Claire notice a doorman standing nearby outside a plush hotel on the corner. Taking the group photo off Andrew, she hustled over to him. "Hello, have you seen this boy at all?" she held it up.

"Hmm," the doorman squinted at Brian's photo, "What was he wearing?"

"Uh, beige tuxedo and pants, white sweater, blue shirt, red tie."

"Nope, haven't seen him," he shook his head.

"All right then, thank you," Claire shook her head at Andrew and rushed back over. "I'm wondering if we're going the wrong way," she reasoned with him, "That's the most logical explanation why no one's seen him at all."

"That's what I've been saying from the beginning, but has anyone bothered to listen to me? Nooooo," Bender retorted. "Let me guess," he rather sarcastically greeted Allison as she returned from the other side of the street, "No sign of him, right?"

"None," Allison shook her head, "But it looks like we're not the only ones looking for him," she pointed back across the street, where the outline of the person she'd been talking with could just be seen disappearing into the snow, "If we do find Brian in time, I think it'll really cheer him up if he knows that..."

"Oh just face the facts for the love of God!" Bender roared at her, "There's no way we're going to find Johnson in this mess, as you and everyone else here would have realized by now if you weren't guided by blind, stupid emotion! And really, why should we be risking our own health and safety out here for a guy we all hardly even know? You've been going on all night about how we owe him this and owe him that; what really do we owe him!? He's just a guy we spent several hours with, so why should we bother...?

"Why bother!? Why bother!?" Claire spun to him, enraged, "Let me tell you something, John Bender, none of us may go far in this life, but Brian will! He's worked hard to get where he is today, and it would be a tragedy if he throws all that away just because he missed one key question in that match; we can't let it happen! And for your information, we DO owe him! Andy was right earlier; Brian would be doing the same thing we're doing now for you if you'd run off, so don't you DARE say this isn't worth it! Well then, if you don't want to come along any further, don't bother staying with us, because if your priorities are so self-centered, none of us want you around anymore!"

"Fine, because I can't stand you anymore either! I can't stand any of you anymore!" Bender fired sharply back at first her and then all three of them, "Your stupid, idealistic pacts don't hold me in, especially when I'm the only one smart enough out of all of you to know the world doesn't work the way you think it does, that love and friendship magically conquer everything and everything always ends happily ever after because of it! But if you want to live in your delusions, go right ahead, and leave me out of it, because I don't care for Johnson, and," he turned furiously back to Claire, "contrary to what you might have thought, princess, I don't care for you!"

In a flash, Claire slapped him hard across the face. "Come on, let's go!" she shouted to the others, turning and storming away up the street. Flashing Bender harsh, disappointed glares, Andrew and Allison turned and followed her without a word. "Yeah, go on, and don't look back, because I won't be following you anymore!" Bender shouted after them. None of them turned around while he continued, "I don't need any of you, or Johnson, and don't you forget that, because I don't care about any of you!"

He rocked on his heels as they disappeared into the storm and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I don't care," he said softly to himself, momentarily looking hesitant, but then shaking his head firmly, "I don't care for Johnson at all. Well, might as well find a place to get warmed up in again..."

* * *

"You going to be all right, Claire?" Allison asked her worriedly a few blocks later.

"Sure, sure I am," Claire said quickly, but the tears starting to flow down her face told a markedly different story. Unable to hide it anymore, she emitted a low sob and slumped against the nearest streetlight. "I really thought he'd changed," she lamented, "I wanted to believe he could be someone I could believe in, but it's clear now he's still just the same old John Bender, only thinking of himself and taking the path of least resistance."

"Well, I guess it was asking a lot from him," Andrew offered, putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, "Knowing now everything he's gone through, that he hasn't really known much kindness, maybe it was a little too much to expect him to him to..."

"Hey, kids, over here," came a voice from the nearest alley. The three of them jumped in shock to see the mugger Brian had run into earlier now aiming his gun at them. "Over here, now," he repeated, "And don't try being heroes; I've had a long and trying night, and I'm not in the mood."

"Listen, uh, mister, could you at least be quick about it?" Allison tried to maintain a calm demeanor as the three of them obeyed the mugger's request and approached him, "We're all kind of in a hurry, and..."

"All right, all right, I'll be quick about it, now wallets and purses now!" he snapped nervously.

"Whatever you say," Claire extended her purse towards him-then abruptly raised it high and bashed him over the head with it, making him stagger and drop his gun. She then let out a scream for any policeman nearby to hear as Andrew jumped the mugger and in no time had him immobilized in a Boston crab. "OK buster, now you're going to do what we tell you," he barked at the man, "Have you seen a boy...!?"

"I'll say he has," Allison riased the man's arm up, "This is Brian's watch, I remember it well from detention. Have you...!?" she looked the man worriedly in the eye, looking like she feared the worst.

"Oh you mean HIM, the crazy one?" the mugger gulped to be reminded of his earlier encounter, "I'm not a murderer, if that's what you're asking; the kid was a maniac, doing everything he could to get me to pull the trigger on him!"

"So did you...?"

"No, no, of course not; I told you I'm not a killer! I felt the need to get away from him; I don't do well around psychos! This job isn't worth that kind of health risk...!"

"Forget that; which way did he go?" Andrew applied more pressure to the mugger's legs.

"I don't know; I was too busy running away from him to notice, and I swear that's all I know! Can I get up now!/"

"One more thing," the wrestler snatched Brian's watch off the man's wrist before releasing him. "Help, police!" the mugger screamed, running away up the street, "Somebody arrest me please, I give up! This job isn't worth this kind of hassle; I prefer jail right now! Somebody arrest me, HEELLLLLLLPP!"

"Some tough guy he is," Claire snorted, picking her purse back up.

"Well, at least we have a lead on Brian now, although who knows if we're still going the right way?" Allison mused, looking disappointed, "He could have gone anywhere after this."

"Well, I say we at least keep going the same way; if we learned this, maybe we'll learn something else," Andrew led them back up the street, "And let's hope another lead comes quick; I have a feeling the clock's really starting to tick now."

* * *

"9:59:56, 9:59:57," Stanpovalichki counted down to the top of the top of the hour off his watch from a bench in front of the main Chicago bus terminal, "9:59:58, 9:59:59, and..."

He gave his head a sharp nod. To the casual observer, this may have appeared to have had no effect on anything, for nothing out of the ordinary happened in the immediate vicinity of his bench, and the people walking by without seeing him continued to do so. Stanpovalichki, however, nodded in satisfaction. "All set," he told Keema at his feet, giving his pet's leash a sharp yank as Keema oogled at a well-groomed poodle being walked by and shaking his head at his dog, "At any rate, Keema, might as well wait here for the time being, because odds are the action's going to end up coming right this way."


	6. Every Life is a Wonderful Life

The sound of an ambulance siren blasting snapped Brian out of his stupor. He leaned up and peered over the edge of the building. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because something had apparently happened below; police cars and ambulances were parked all in front of the tenement. At first he wondered if Standalone or whatever the tramp had said his name was had double-crossed him and called the cops on him anyway, but a quick look down into the alley below revealed they weren't there for him: the medics were wheeling a sheet-covered gurney from the back of the alley towards the nearest ambulance. He was surprised he hadn't heard anything at all, but he did know one thing: he certainly couldn't jump now, not with the authorities all over the place; indeed, one police officer was starting to come up the fire escape now, presumably for a better view of the scene of the death. He'd have to move on before he was spotted and turned in and come up with another idea.

Noticing a second fire escape on the other side of the roof, he bustled towards it and hustled down it before the cop could reach the roof and see him. Once he reached the bottom, he peaked around the corner of the alley, trying to listen in to the police and medics talking as the body was loaded into the ambulance, hoping to find out what had happened. They were mumbling too low for him to hear, however, and he couldn't make out much beyond a few small snippets, such as, "...can't understand why...no reason I can see, especially right now, after..." Oh well, he shrugged, it really wasn't any of his concern in the end what happened to some anonymous wino who'd drunk too much and let the elements get to him.

He waited until no one was watching before exiting the alley and walking back down the street the way he'd come before. Strangely, although it was still snowing hard and the wind chill was still brutal, the cold didn't seem to be affecting him anymore. Perhaps, he reasoned to himself, his body had been overly numbed by the snowstorm to the point he could no longer feel it, which would be unusual, but not outright...

The blaring of a bus horn caught his attention. One was now coming straight up the street at a reasonable clip towards where he was standing. Yes, he thought in delight, finally a quick and easy way out! He barrelled into the street, stopping right in the bus's path, spread his arms wide, and closed his eyes, waiting for the impact that would finally put him out of his misery. The horn blared again as the bus beared down right on top of him...

...but instead of a violent impact, he felt only a warm whooshing sensation, after which the bus's engine could be heard diminishing. His eyes snapped back open in surprise as he spun back around. Sure enough, the bus was past him and driving on. Brian felt extremely confused. How could it possibly have missed him? From his judgment before he'd closed his eyes, there wouldn't have been enough time for it to stop, and he hadn't heard either brakes or the squeal of the tires as would have been expected if it had swerved around him.

"_I guess I misjudged where to stand," _he reasoned, glancing up the street for another bus, but only a snowplow and a few regular cars in the distance could be seen through the snow. None of them could effectively do the job the way he wanted it to go. Sighing, he trudged back to the sidewalk and continued his slow march back down the street. He had no idea what to do now. Perhaps, he thought, if he just kept walking in the snow, eventually he'd just keel over dead; sooner or later the cold had to finish him, even if it didn't seem to be having any effect on him at the moment.

Slowly the bright lights of the center of Chicago came into view again as he got closer to the convention center again. But Brian wasn't noticing this, his eyes cast firmly at the ground, trying to plot his next step. This, combined with the near zero visibility the storm was allowing, made it all too understandable when, without warning, he bumped into someone, spilling them both to the sidewalk. "Hey watch where you're going, you jerk!" shouted an upset voice. But a very familiar upset voice to Brian...

"Claire," he bent down and helped her to her feet, "Funny seeing you out here in this mess. Why didn't you show up for the finals? I thought we all agreed...?"

"What are you talking about!?" there was a sharp edge to her voice, as if she was in a bad mood; indeed, Brian could see she had been crying for some unknown reason, as her eyes were quite red. She was looking at him strangely as well. Brian looked around to see if the others were by chance with her, but she was alone. "Uh, well, Claire, you did all promise..." he started to say.

"Who are you!?" she glared right at him, "And how the hell do you know my name!?"

"Now Claire..."

"Don't 'Now Claire' me, mister!" she unexpectedly roared at him, making him jump back in surprise, "I've never seen you before, that's for sure! Now don't bother me; I've had a very, very long, miserable day, and I just want to forget about everything that's happened, so just leave me alone, OK!?"

Her eyes watering intensely now, and with a loud whimper of misery, she bustled towards the large department store that was next to where they had crashed. "Uh, Claire, it looks like it's going to be closing in about five minutes..." Brian called to her.

"I don't care; I'll spend the night inside; just don't bother me!" she did not look back as she pushed through the revolving door, leaving a very confused Brian outside. What had that all been about, he wondered to himself? They had certainly parted detention on reasonably good terms, even though it had taken a while to get there. Had she learned of his failure at the finals and gotten mad at him for that? It must have been, he thought sadly. _"Nice going, Johnson, now you've even lost her with your stupid mistake too!"_ he snarled mentally at himself, _"Well, if she was there, maybe everyone else was too and I didn't see them. Maybe they're still there; if I hurry, maybe I can catch them and tell them up front how sorry I am." _

He increased his pace down the street until the convention center came into view through the whirling snow. But he was surprised to see the Shermer shuttle wasn't parked where it had been when they'd arrived. Had they gotten into it and gone out to look for him, he wondered? That had to be it, he nodded; sooner or later they'd be back for him. But at least he could verify it, for a large knot of people were standing around outside, and he recognized several of the judges from the final match among them. He bustled over to the nearest one, a distinguished elderly man, and tugged at his coat sleeve. "Uh, sir, excuse me, I'm just wondering, when did the Shermer team take off?" he asked the man.

"Huh?" the judge frowned, "What school?"

"Shermer. Did they go looking for me? I'm the one that ran off earlier."

"I don't know what you're talking about, young man," he shook his head, "The Shermer team isn't here."

"Yes, I know, I'm asking you, where did they go?" Brian pressed him.

"Nowhere," another judge cracked, "Just like they always do."

"I, I don't understand," Brian was utterly confused now, "Look, I was on the Shermer team..."

"Look kid, we don't have time for jokes," the first judge reprimanded him firmly, "I judged Shermer's only match this year; they lost in the first round like they always do, so there was no reason for them to be here for the finals. You must be mistaken. Now please, we're busy men."

He turned back to his associates. "Huh? First round? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke!?" Brian was starting to feel frustrated now, "Hold on, let me guess, this was Mr. Vernon's idea, wasn't it!? He wanted revenge, so he told you to tell me we didn't make the finals when I got back, didn't he!?"

"Look, see for yourself if you insist on doing this, kid; Shermer didn't even make it this far," another judge shoved the match scorecard into his hand. Brian blinked hard at the notepad. Lake Forest Central had won...but over North Wilmette..._North Wilmette!? _They'd gone out in the first round, he recalled, easily crushed by New Trier. Something definitely wasn't right here. He glanced at the runner-ups' profiles. Apparently it wasn't simply a case of them putting the wrong heading on; he didn't recognize any of the people listed under the North Wilmette banner, and the final score was a thirty point blowout in Lake Forest Central's favor. What was the story here?

_"Has to be Mr. Vernon's doing, has to be_," he assured himself, "_He wants revenge; he probably herded everyone on the shuttle and had them drive home to Shermer without me, and told them to leave this behind. I can see why Bender hates the man. Well, he can't do this so easily to me." _

His attention was momentarily distracted by someone screaming in anguish. He walked forward and glanced around the corner, but the knot of people there was even larger and tighter, and he couldn't make anyone or anything out from where he was standing, except a woman wailing in agony like there was no tomorrow. The flashing lights of a police cruiser blinked nearby, so it had to be something significant-probably someone caught selling drugs, he supposed. "_It's not my business anyway_," he thought to himself, tossing the match scorecard to the sidewalk at the judges' feet and walking back up the street towards where he knew the bus terminal was. He had more pressing matters to take care of.

A brisk five minute walk brought him to the bus terminal. Surely, he reasoned, there had to be a bus going to Shermer even at this later hour. Then he could get everything settled out, even if it meant another detention if he couldn't stop himself from doing what he now felt like doing. But before he reached the doors...

"Well, good evening again, my friend," Stanpovalichki called from the bench closest to the doors, "Roof too cold for you, I guess."

"Things just came up," Brian told him coolly, "I'm still going to end it when I get the chance. Right now, though, I'm just getting a ride home; the superintendent made them leave without me."

"Hmm," Stanpovalichki mused, 'Maybe, maybe not. Actually, Keema and I, we were going to Shermer right now too-I have some business to take care of there-so if you need any extra money for the fare..."

"Thanks but no thanks; I still have more than..." Brian frowned as he reached into his pocket; his wallet wasn't there. And neither was his cell phone for that matter. "Did you take my wallet up on the roof!?" he snapped accusingly at Stanpovalichki.

"What wallet?" the homeless man shrugged innocently, "I don't think you have a wallet."

"No kidding; hand it over!" Brian thrust his hand forward.

"I don't have it. No one has it."

"Not funny; hand it over right now!" Brian lunged at him and rifled through Stanpovalichki's pant and coat pockets. But it appeared his "friend" was telling the truth; the wallet wasn't on him. "OK, maybe you're right," he conceded, figuring someone else had sneaked onto the roof and picked his pockets while he'd been asleep, perhaps whoever it was that had died in the alley below while he was out, "Well, I guess I'll take your offer of a ticket then, Mr...whatever you said your name was."

"Stanpovalichki," the homeless man opened his suitcase and gestured Keema inside it, flipping open a hidden grating to provide ventilation before he slammed it shut, "And glad to help; anything for someone who could really use it."

"I'm just fine, thank you; I just need a ride home, that's all," Brian told him firmly. He followed Stanpovalichki into the terminal, surprised the man could lift the suitcase with his dog inside with no apparent strain. They approached the Trailways desk. "Two to Shermer if there's any going there," Stanpovalichki told the receptionist.

"Let me check," the receptionist punched some figures into her computer, "Looks like you're just going to catch the last one; Gate Nine, leaving in ten minutes."

"Very much appreciated," Stanpovalichki tipped his fedora to her. "After you," he handed Brian one of the tickets after he'd received them and gestured him forward towards the escalator to the loading area. The bus was practically empty, with only three other people on board. Brian slid into a starboard window seat and closed his eyes, even though he really didn't feel fatigued. Essentially, he just wanted the night to be over now, and everything to return to some semblance of normalcy for himself, whatever that would take.

He must have fallen asleep again, for the next time he looked out the window, they were driving at a reasonable clip considering the elements, and were getting close to Shermer; he recognized the landmarks. Indeed, Shermer High would be right around the corner now. "Awake again, I see?" Stanpovalichki leaned over the seat behind him.

"Uh, yeah; actually, let's ask the driver to stop here at Shermer High; I'm sure someone left the..." Brian's voice trailed off as they passed Shermer High...which was completely pitch dark, with no sign of anyone being there. "That's strange," he mused, more confused, "I would have thought someone would have been there. Something's really not right here; first they tell me we didn't even make the finals this year, now no one's here even waiting for me."

"Well, if you didn't make the finals, I guess there'd be no reason for anyone to wait up there," Stanpovalichki said with what appeared to be a wry smile.

"But we did make the finals; I told you that on the roof!" Brian told him, frustrated, "Look, mister, I'm not in the mood for whatever game you want to play here, so don't, OK, just don't."

The homeless man merely leaned back in his seat and whistled softly. In about four more minutes, the bus eased to a stop outside the Shermer bus terminal. Everything seemed normal as far as Brian could tell, and yet, as he stepped off the bus, he got a strange chill on the back of his neck, as if something wasn't quite right. "Something on your mind?" Stanpovalichki asked him, opening the suitcase and letting Keema out as the bus pulled away behind them.

"Look, I didn't ask you to follow..." again Brian trailed off as he saw a figure he definitely wanted to see seated on another bench not fifty feet away. "Mr. Jacobson," he trotted towards him, "Did Mr. Vernon make you leave without...?"

"Huh?" his team instructed glanced blankly up at him-revealing he'd somehow managed to grow a significant amount of stubble in a matter of hours. His expression was confused and muddled. "What are you going on about?" he asked again, more than a little curtness in his voice.

"The shuttle, did Mr. Vernon make you take it back without me after the competition? I got back, and no one was there, so I had to take the bus back..."

"I don't know what you're going on about," Mr. Jacobson told him off with surprising sharpness, "And moreover, I don't even know who you are, young man."

"Well of course you do, Mr. Jacobson; I've been on the Simmons team the last four years..."

"Had some liquor in you then, I guess," the teacher snorted, jerking to his feet, "That's only explanation I have for your ranting, young man. First off, I never met you before in my life; secondly, I quit teaching, and most assuredly the Simmons team as well, four years ago; no one in the student body gave a damn anymore about trying, so there was no point in me sticking around as I saw it."

"Huh?" Brian was totally dumbfounded, "What are you saying? That's not true; Corey was on the team with me every year, remember? Brian Johnson...?"

"Never heard that name before. And Corey didn't bother signing up for that infernal, heartbreaking event after I quit. Now don't bother me, kid; I've had a long and trying day," he lumbered off, looking embittered. Brian stood stone still, trying to somehow process all of this. "What in God's name was he going on about?" he mumbled, "Why would he say he didn't know me?"

"Maybe because he doesn't," Stanpovalichki walked up alongside him, "And maybe because he didn't really coach the team this year or the last four years."

"Oh don't you start that again!" Brian shouted at him, "He loved the team; there's no way he would have quit before he wanted to retire! Coaching us meant the world to him...!"

"Actually, I'd say it meant the world to him only if he could share the experience with someone eager to learn and try hard in each match, win or lose," Stanpovalichki shook his head knowingly, "And although it would have been an honor to work with his son, if no one else had the enthusiasm, why bother? Now imagine if a certain eager seventh grader hadn't come up to him five years ago after Shermer was knocked out in the first round again, introduced himself as a big fan of the competition, and told him he'd do whatever it took to help him win it once he'd graduated to high school..."

"How...how do you know about that!?" Brian almost keeled over in shock; no one had witnessed that conversation between Mr. Jacobson and himself back in junior high.

"You'd be surprised at the things I happen to know," Stanpovalichki raised his eyebrows, "If that seventh grader hadn't been there to lift his spirits that kids still care about doing good in academic matters, and that people like him could still make a difference in kids' lives..."

But Brian wasn't listening again. For two more familiar figures were approaching the depot, talking happily to each other. At least that jived with what he knew, so maybe they could tell him something. "Andy, Allison," he ran forward and waved them down, "Now, please, don't tell me you don't know me..."

"Well, you're right, whoever you are, I don't know you," Andrew abruptly frowned him down. The look in his eyes clued Brian that he actually meant it. "Oh come on you guys, don't you start that too!" he begged them, "We were in detention together a few weeks ago; the two of you, me, Claire, and Bender; tell me you at least remember that!"

"Yeah, Claire and Bender were there with us," Allison nodded softly, frowning herself, "But you certainly weren't, whoever you are, so I have no idea how you'd know anything about that detention. I've never seen you before in my life; have you, Andy?" she asked him.

"Not at all," Andrew shook his head firmly, "He looks like a real nerd though, the kind of person that would have really made that detention a riot."

The two of them snorted openly. Brian felt faint; what was going on here!? "Come on, you guys, you do know me!" he pleaded with them as they started walking away, "We were there in detention for half of that Saturday; you all promised you'd come to the competition tonight if Shermer made it to the finals...!"

"Which they never will," Allison turned and stared at him with confusion and more than a little derision, "They lost in the first round again like they always do, and for your information, whoever you are, I'd never be caught dead watching a pack of nerds answering questions about things I don't even know about."

"Same here; I take pride in being normal," Andrew added, pulling her close with another snort. The two of them started walking away, barely able to suppress derisive laughter. "What are you talking about!? We made it to the finals, damn it; you know it and everyone knows it!" Brian all but screamed after them, "Now if this is some kind of colossal joke," he glared back at Stanpovalichki, "It's gone too far! Let's...!

They weren't listening to him, and were soon out of sight in the snow. "All right, I want an answer!" he demanded Stanpovalichki, "What's going on here, and I want the truth!"

"OK, you asked for it," the homeless man shrugged, "You said you wished everyone you knew had never met you; well, I know it's a bit cliched to show people who want to kill themselves the world in which they never existed, but given how cut up you were, I figured there'd be no reason to break precedent. So, careful what you wish for, Brian Ralph Johnson...if you ever existed, that is. Oh, and by the way, since you've never existed, you can't possibly get killed, by a bus or anything."

"You're lying," he pointed an accusing finger in the homeless man's face, "Mr. Vernon put you up to it, didn't he!? Well, I don't have to put up with this any more; now that I'm back here in Shermer, I'm going home!"

"Well, I'd wish you luck; if you had a home to go back to, that is," Stanpovalichki shrugged.

"Stop it!" he bellowed at the fat man. Collecting himself, he pointed a sharp finger at him and muttered, "Wait here!" before storming up the street in the direction of his house. By now, he just wanted to plop under the covers and forget the whole night had ever happened.

Within three minutes, his house came into sight. That at least was encouraging. As he hopped up the porch, however, what was not encouraging was the enraged screaming from inside the house. "...none of you control me!" he heard Mary shouting in a far more angry manner than he'd thought his parents would ever allow, "I've had it with you trying to make me into your big, stupid honors student!"

"Don't use that tone with us, young lady!" his mother barked.

"Go to hell!" his sister roared, making Brian jump back in shock on the porch; although she was frequently that abrasive with him when no one else was around, she never spoke to their parents like that, "I don't care to be the smartest in my class whether either of you like it or not! I'm going over Caitlin's; don't follow me!"

The door slammed open inches from his face. "Out of my way!" Mary shoved him aside, stopping to frown up confusedly at him before stomping off. He stood frozen in place for a split second, but that was broken as his mother appeared in the doorway, looking surprisingly weary and abruptly overweight, preparing to shout some parting insults at her daughter. "Mom, it's me, Brian, please tell me you at least recognize me," he jumped in front of her before she could deliver them, "Look, I'm sorry I failed you with the competition, but I..."

"Who did you say you were again?" there was mass confusion on her face.

"Damn it, please don't you start too! It's me, Brian, your son!"

"Son?" her expression grew deeply remorseful, "Oh, I wish you were; you look just like what I'd want a son to look like."

"What's going on now, Mercedes?" his father, also shockingly unshaven like Mr. Jacobson, appeared in the doorway next to his wife, but it was what he was clutching in his hand that made Brian gasp. "Dad, when did you start drinking!?" he stammered, "All those years you told me never to touch alcohol...!"

"Who are you!?" Mr. Johnson frowned at him.

"Your son, for the love of God!" he couldn't take much more of this, "It's me, Bri-!"

Something else caught his attention; the large family portrait hanging on the wall in the front hall-or, more accurately, what wasn't in the picture. "Wait a second, where am I!?" he gasped, pushing past his parents to gape in shock at it, "I was in this one; we had it taken at WalMart...!"

"I'm sorry, young man, but I don't know who you are," Mr. Johnson stepped into his way and shook his head firmly, "I'm afraid I don't have a son," his expression became very crestfallen, "I wish I did, though, I really do. Now if you don't mind, we'd like to be alone right now, to try and figure out where Mercedes and I went so horribly wrong."

"No Dad, don't...!" Brian's plea was cut off as his parents closed the door on him. He reeled backwards off the porch in shock, listening to the two of them start crying inside, the image of the picture without him lingering horribly in his mind. Was Stanpovalichki right? Did he really no longer exist?

"Yeah, it's true," came the homeless man's voice from behind him, making Brian cry out as he jumped in shock. "What's the matter with them!?" he begged Stanpovalichki, "Why are they drinking; why are they screaming at Mary...!?"

"Unfortunately, she doesn't meet their standards," Stanpovalichki shook his head sadly, "You see, a child who shared their love for learning would have been a godsend to them, someone they'd feel the utmost pride for, someone they'd be delighted to see succeed, someone who would have given them something to really fight for. But since you're not here, they're stuck with a daughter who, wonderful though she is in so many other ways, doesn't like it their way most of the time, no matter how much they try and mold her to their way of wanting her to be. And without the kind of kid they'd really, really hoped to have deep down, well, the bottle looks pretty darn enticing. You probably don't want to know the rest of the story; I'm sparing you the real gory details here, kid. Oh, and by the way," he started walking towards Brian, "Shermer DID lose in the first round this year, making them more of the butt of jokes from the administrators of the competition than ever before, not to mention from the student body itself, who wonder why the school even bothers trying anymore."

"But...but...I didn't play any critical part on the team; they didn't need me!" Brian protested, pure terror starting to well up inside him.

"Didn't they? Look under the surface, Brian, like I thought you'd learned to do in detention; maybe you'll find a different story..."

"No!" he turned to run...and screamed, for Stanpovalichki had suddenly teleported in front of him. "You told me on that roof you were worthless, and that the whole world would be better off without you," he said solemnly, his expression ominously stone solid, "Look around you, Brian Johnson; does the world really look better without you? Do your friends really look any better without you? For one thing, being able to go to that competition tonight was huge for Claire; it gave her a good outlet away from all the trouble she's going through at home right now with her parents splitting that she otherwise wouldn't have had if she'd never met you that Saturday..."

"Stay away from me!" completely freaked out now, he broke into a run, desperate to just get away from the homeless man. The question in his mind was how to stop the whole mess he seemed to be in. He knew of one last place he could go that seemed safe.

He kept glancing over his shoulder all the way to Fern Street, but Stanpovalichki kept his word this time and didn't follow him. In five minutes, he reached the Martelli house and started pounding on the door as hard as he could. "Open up, please, it's Brian, let me in!" he cried out, "There's a madman out here after me!"

The door slowly swung open. "Can I help you?" Mrs. Martelli stuck her head in the crack, looking apprehensive.

"OK, Mrs. Martelli, please, just bear with me on this," he rambled out, "My name is Brian Johnson, I am Matt's best friend, and we've..."

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong address," she said, a strange pained look on her face as she started to shut the door.

"No, you're not going to put me through that too!" he pushed against the door with all his might and managed to force his way in, "I demand you let me see...!"

Another photo on the piano caught his attention-also for all the wrong reasons. It was one that had been taken with him and Matt on a fourth grade class field trip to Wrigley Field-only, as with back at his house, he wasn't in it. "Oh no, not that one too!" he whimpered, "No, please, don't tell me it's actually true!"

"Young man, I demand you leave at once!" she shouted at him, freaked out herself.

"Not until I talk to Matt!" he countered, "He's my best friend; I need him right now, so let me talk to him!"

Strangely, this caused Mrs. Martelli to completely break down in tears. "What!?" he demanded, "Why is that so hard for you to...!"

"You can't be Matt's friend," she cried, bordering on hystericality, "He never had any friends. I wish you'd been here before it was too late..."

"What are you talking about!? Where is Matt; I demand you let me talk to him!"

"You can't," she sobbed, crumpling to the floor in her grief, "Matt's in the same place he's been for the last six years-Maple Park Cemetery."

The world seemed to abruptly close in around Brian. He almost collapsed himself, his head starting to spin. "It's not true!" he found himself screaming at the top of his lungs, "IT'S NOT TRUE!"

"I wish it wasn't true," Mrs. Martelli shook her head in misery, "But Matt shot himself at age twelve. He didn't have any friends. I wish I'd seen the warning signs and stopped him...my precious son..." She sniffed loudly and looked Brian right in the eye. "If you don't believe me, Section Four, Row Eleven, Grave Twenty-two."

Without even realizing it, Brian found himself stumbling backwards away from the Martelli house and breaking into a run in the direction of the cemetery. A good part of him didn't want to look, but he knew he had to. And if it was true...but how could it be true!? Matt had loved life; no one Brian knew had been funnier, had loved life more. How could it be possible...!?

In no time, he'd reached the cemetery. The gates were locked for the night, but the fence was low enough for him to hurdle. Visibility was almost zero, but he stumbled through the rows of graves, having a general idea of Section Four's location, his maternal grandfather having been buried there last year. Of course, he realized, it would probably be impossible to see any tombstone through this mess, even if it was right in front of him.

But then it caught his attention as he almost rushed past it, smaller than most of the surrounding tombstones and almost half covered in snow. He slid to an abrupt stop, very slowly turned towards it...and blinked desperately at it, hoping to somehow be mistaken. But there was no mistaking, even in the darkness of the cemetery, the large, stark letters spelling out MARTELLI near the top, and below them, the equally stark BELOVED SON MATTHEW RYAN. "No!" he gasped softly, his eyes wide in absolute horror, "No, it's not possible! It's just not possible!"

He frantically shoveled the snow away. But tombstone laid out Mrs. Martelli's words as horrifyingly true; Matt had apparently now only lived to be twelve. "OH GOD NO!" he shrieked, collapsing against the tombstone and breaking down in tears himself, "PLEASE GOD, NOT MATT! ANYTHING BUT THIS, PLEASE! I DIDN'T MEAN FOR THIS TO HAPPEN! PLEASE GOD, BRING HIM BACK!" he tearfully looked up at the sky, "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ANYMORE! PLEASE, BRING ME BACK; I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING, ANYTHING TO PREVENT THIS! I'M SORRY, MATT!" he sobbed into the cold, heartless tombstone, "I'M SO SORRY...!"

Suddenly, without any warning, a skeletal hand horrifyingly shot up out of the ground and seized him by the throat. Before he could fully comprehend this terrifying occurrence, the entire ground rose up. Suddenly, he was face to face with a decomposing corpse with burning, hateful red eyes. "YOU KILLED ME!" it roared with an unearthly howl, pushing Brian backwards to the ground, "BRIAN...!"

"I'M SORRY, MATT!" Brian shrieked in carnal terror, trying desperately to break out of the grip as the corpse started shaking him violently, "I DIDN'T MEAN IT, I DIDN'T KNOW...I'M SORRY...!"


	7. The Brain's Rewards

But suddenly, the cemetery started to dissolve around him. He could feel the cold in his face and extremities again as he took note of where he was now...apparently back on the rooftop where he'd met Stanpovalichki. And although his vision was blurry, he could make out, standing over him now in place of the dead Matt, crying his name...

"A-A-A-Allison," he stammered weakly through chattering teeth, finding himself unable to move due to the cold.

"Come on Brian, just hang in there!" she cried desperately at him. And over her shoulder, through the snow, he could see more familiar faces-faces he'd waited all night to see. "G-G-Guys," he barely managed to say. The world was starting to slip away...

"Oh God, he's completely hypothermic!" he could hear Claire frantically shouting, "How long do you think he's been up here?"

"Never mind, just call 911 now!" Allison barked at her.

"All right, all right, don't shout at me!" things were getting blurrier for him, but he could still make out Claire desperately rummaging through her purse for her cell phone. He gathered enough strength to dig through his own pockets, and was relieved to find his wallet in there. "Yeah, this is a major emergency," he could hear Claire telling the medics, seemingly from the end of a long tunnel, "We've got a boy here, severe frostbite, maybe hypothermia, on the roof at...what the hell street were we even on!?" she bellowed in frustration.

"East Sixty-Eighth, I think; I'll go check, though," he could just make out Andrew rushing down the fire escape. From the alley below, he could hear a dog barking. Could they perhaps have been led to him by...?

"Stay down there and direct the ambulance when it shows up," Claire called down to the wrestler. "East Sixty-Eighth Street; we'll have someone to show you where; hurry, he's fading fast!" she breathlessly told the operator before bending down and staring worriedly right in Brian's face. "We've got to get him warmed up somehow before they get here; I don't know if he can make it otherwise," her voice was fraught with deep fear. It also echoed deeply even though she was mere inches from him.

"Well I'm open to any suggestions," Allison sounded deathly worried too.

"Hey don't look at me; he's the genius, not me!" Claire gestured down at him. "Come on Brian, please just stay with us a few more minutes!" she begged him, taking hold of his hand, "You didn't give up earlier when Shermer looked certain to lose big; don't give up now when...!"

Abruptly something flopped over his face from the side. "Bender," Allison sounded amazed, "You came back. How'd...?"

"N-Never mind R-Reynolds, j-j-just get that ambulance h-h-here s-s-so I can have it b-b-b-b-back A.S.A.P., OK!" Bender sounded chilled himself. Brian managed to raise his head to see him standing on the ledge, without his coat on.

"So, it looks like you do care for Brian after all, don't you, John Bender?" Claire was grinning, having some satisfaction in the moment.

"Sh-Sh-Shut up!" Bender barked unconvincingly at her, definite concern visible on his face even through Brian's blurred vision, "I d-d-don't care for him; it's j-just...it's j-j-j-just...I d-d-didn't want to live w-w-w-with the guilt of d-d-d-doing n-n-n-nothing!"

"You most certainly do care for him," Allison told him with a smile of her own as she wrapped Bender's coat as tightly around Brian as she could manage. "Are you OK, Brian?" she took his other hand, "Say something, please..."

"Is M-M-M-Matt alive?" he could barely manage the words. Then his eyes started going wide as he noticed a white light getting very bright above him. "N-N-No, pl-pl-please, not y-y-yet!" he pleaded softly, "I d-d-don't want to d-d-d-die anymore!"

"You're not going to die, Brian; we're here for you now, we're going to get help. Brian? Brian, come on, don't you scare me like this...!"

But anything else she had to say was lost as the light got brighter still and very quickly engulfed him entirely...

* * *

"No, you don't understand!" he cried into the whiteness, "I don't want to die anymore! Please, God, send me back!"

"I think that can be arranged," came Stanpovalichki's voice. The homeless man and his dog materialized out of the void slowly and walked towards him. "So, I take it you understand now what I was trying to tell you, am I right?" he asked Brian, grinning knowingly.

"Yeah, I see it now, I see everything now," Brian nodded, "It's just...the way things have gone for me over the years, what happened tonight just felt like the end of the world, like something I'd never be able to recover from. But please, since you told me everything else," he looked Stanpovalichki right in the eye, "why would Matt want to shoot himself in that world? No one loves life more than Matt; no one I know can make me or anyone else laugh harder..."

"Well, there's your answer right there, actually," Stanpovalichki shook his head softly, "The funny thing with comics, they're usually funny precisely because they're crying on the inside. Your friend was driven to be funny out of loneliness apart from having you around, thinking he needed to do it to keep you caring for him. If you hadn't been there, he wouldn't have had anyone to reach out to, and, well, you saw what would have happened there."

He put an arm around Brian. "Too often when I look around these days, people give up on life too soon," he said, a heavy look on his face, "They think they don't make any difference, that the world will just keep spinning as usual without them. That's what your friend thought in that world. That's what you've seemed to be thinking lately in the real world. But even for someone your age, every life ripples, every life has an effect. And not just the obvious stuff either; the most innocuous thing can have the most profound impact on someone else. And even the bad things can lead to good. Take a look at that detention a few weeks ago, for instance..."

"How do you know about that?" Brian had to ask.

"Oh, it's all part and parcel of the job," the homeless man told him, "I know getting detention seemed like the end of the world for someone like you who appreciates and respects the school system. But look at what came out of that detention: you earned a quartet of good friends, and it looks like that friendship just paid off in a big way. And besides, getting to know you helped make their lives better, just as getting to know them made yours better. You helped open them to understand more of the world around them, and that's going to be a big boost for all of them some day. Now take a look at the world without you: since you'd never been in that detention then to let them know what it felt like to be living your life, they kept their stereotypes about smart people, and even though they came out better with each other, they were still partially brainwashed-which would have left them lesser people still."

"Hmm," Brian mused, "I never really thought of it that way. Well then, I guess good did come out of detention, then-although I hope I never have to go through another one. Well," he scratched Keema behind the ears, "If I can go back, I'd like to go back now, but first," he looked Stanpovalichki in the eye again, "Before I do, I just want to know, who are you really?"

"Who am I?" the homeless man shrugged, "Just another guy who was handed a tough life, but made the best of it. And tough is an understatement in this case: if people had to suffer foreclosure, and the death of loved ones," he choked up, but kept his composure, "They might decide to do the same thing you thought of doing tonight. But it was the cold that got me in the end like it almost got you, freezing to death in that alley below the building you climbed up, alone except for Keema here. No one wanted to help me, because too many of them only saw me as a homeless man. Too often, people can only see the superfluous, and not just the scoundrels like Mr. Vernon, who clearly, as your friend Allison might say, died when he grew up and can't see the trees for the forest anymore. Even the good people in the world can make those mistakes if they're not careful, and so I ended up here. And perhaps in a way that's why the powers that be gave me this job, of watching over the city and helping those in need, that as the least in life, I could be tasked with doing the greatest good after life. Just promise me before I let you go, Brian, that from here on, you'll always remember what I'm telling you here. Life can be hard, too often it is, but it's ALWAYS worth living, because there's always hope for better days in the darkest storms, and you never know quite what's waiting around the bend."

He was grinning coyly, as if he knew something he wasn't going to reveal. "And I guess that's everything," he said as he and his dog started fading away into the whiteness, "Good luck to you, Brian Ralph Johnson; you may be surprised at what's waiting back on the other side."

"Wait, will I ever...?" Brian started to ask, but Stanpovalichki quickly disappeared, and all was white again.

* * *

Slowly, the light faded until it was fairly dim above him. Then he realized he was looking at an overhead light, and he didn't feel cold anymore. He moved his arms and legs to find himself covered with at least four layers of blankets. He had no clue where he was now, but he could tell at least he was alive. And at the moment, that was all that mattered to him.

And then he heard Mary's voice not that far off. "...just seems sometimes that he's the only thing that matters to you," she was saying, embittered yet sobering. He raised his head softly. He was inside a hospital room, and his family was slumped in chairs near the bottom of his bed, looking bleary-eyed and worried.

"Honey, your father and I love you so much," her mother hugged her close, sniffing loudly, "We always have and we always will. It's just that Brian's personality just ended up a little closer to ours, so I can see how you'd think we'd only care for him. But if anything like this had happened to you, we'd be just as scared as we are now for him. You're special in your own way, and we're proud of you for that."

She gave her daughter a kiss as her husband nodded softly, barely in reality. Brian could see the fear choking their faces, the tears choking their eyes-fear and tears for him. And he knew then and there they still cared. His fears had been unfounded after all. "Mom?" he let out a weak croak. His parents' heads shot up at the sound. Their faces promptly erupted in joy. "Oh Brian," his mother lunged for him in a flash and started smothering him with kisses. "Oh we thought we'd lost you," she sobbed happily between kisses, "You don't know how worried your father and I were...we were driving all over the city once we realized how serious...if anything had happened to you...!"

"Listen," he still had to get one thing off his chest, "I'm sorry about earlier..."

"Oh just forget about the competition," his father pried him away from his mother and hugged him, "We don't care about you winning it or not anymore, Brian. We care about you; we care that you're still here with us. We love you, Son," he pulled back and looked his oldest child in the face, regretful but grateful, "Your mother and I love you so much."

"And if you thought we couldn't love you if you didn't win it, we're sorry," Mrs. Johnson added quickly, "Maybe if we'd told you what we're telling you now earlier, none of this would have happened. But your father's right; we love you, and we're proud of you even without a first place finish tonight. We've always been so proud of you."

She hugged him as well and seemed unwilling to want to let go (all while Brian watched his father pick his sister up and embrace her a strong kiss, whispering, "We love you just as much," in her ear-and for once, Mary appeared to be satisfied with the attention). "And," his mother said when she finally did release the hug, "You won't believe how many people have been waiting here for you to come back besides us. Maybe that will make you feel better, too."

She bustled to the door, thrust it open, and proclaimed, "He's awake!", which set off a cheer from what sounded to Brian to be close to a dozen people. "You can come in first," she addressed someone outside, "He certainly wouldn't be here with us now if you four hadn't found him."

A smile crossed Brian's face as his former detention associates filed in, looking deeply relieved. "Bender," he spoke up to the criminal, who was the only one not explicitly ecstatic at the moment-the blanket he had wrapped tightly around himself gave a hint why, "Thank you for your coat up on the..."

"Don't thank me, Johnson, please; I got frostbite when it took the damn ambulance five minutes longer than they said it would take to show up," Bender grumbled, "Why couldn't April have been more like April's supposed to be tonight so...?"

"What Bender's trying to say in his own unique way, Brian," Claire picked up the slack, "is that he's glad to have helped. And actually, he was just as worried for you as the rest of us; he was close to breaking down when it looked like you weren't going to make it..."

"I most certainly was not!" Bender snapped unconvincingly.

"Yes you certainly were," Andrew chided him teasingly, grinning, "You were fighting to keep from crying when the doctor told us all there was a good chance Brian might not make it; I saw it clearly, so don't bother denying it."

"All right, you got me, I was upset," Bender conceded roughly, "So what's the big deal to you?"

"The big deal is, you have changed for the better," Claire put an arm around him and smiled, "And truthfully, I'm proud of you for that, John Bender. I guess I did misjudge you earlier tonight; I'm sorry for..."

"Well, maybe in a way I needed that slap," Bender confessed, his face starting to contort with discomfort; clearly, confessing that he'd erred wasn't usually in his nature, Brian surmised, "Maybe I'm the one who's really been living in a dream world instead of the rest of you, thinking friendship's not worth anything. But anyway, after you'd left, and I was sitting at the counter in the deli at the corner we parted ways at, waiting for a hot chocolate to warm myself up with, I did some thinking, and realized that if I just walked away when Johnson needed help, I'd be turning into my old man. And the last thing I want to do is become him. And, well, I realized you were right; I made that agreement same as the rest of you, and knowing I was letting you down by walking away, especially you," he met Claire's eyes, "...in the end, I found I couldn't live with myself for doing that, that I owed you to do something as much as I owed Johnson."

"Well, you didn't need to think of it that way, but I really appreciate that, Bender," she leaned into him, still smiling, "It's because you were willing to sacrifice a little warmth for a little while that Brian's still here, so you should feel good about coming back. I won't forget..."

She was cut off as the door was flung wide open, and a deeply worried Matt barreled in. "Matt, you're alive..." Brian exclaimed, relieved the dream was only a dream.

"Yeah, I'm alive, and I've been scared stiff you weren't!" Matt shouted at him, "Every time I tell you that you take things too seriously, you go off and do something like this! Do you have any idea how scared I was you were already dead before we all went out looking for you!? Do you..." the rage quickly turned to tears, "Do you have any idea, Brian, what my life would be like if you weren't in it!?"

"I, I actually do now, Matt," Brian leaned up in bed, "And I'm sorry if I scared you. I'm grateful you've been my friend all these years; you've helped me when I needed someone to lean on. The whole time around when Mary was born, for instance..."

"Hey!" Mary shouted indignantly.

"Well it's true when someone's born after you, you know," Andrew leaned down to her level, frowning, "I felt the same way Brian did when my brother was born; you feel you're being pushed out of the way until the baby arrives. If your parents have another one someday, you might feel that way too."

"Exactly, Andy. You made me feel better then, Matt, and I'm glad you're here now, too," Brian told his friend, "I won't put you through anything like this again, promise."

"Thank you, because you've gotten me through so much more than you realize too," Matt told him, relieved. "And for the rest of you," he turned to the rest of his classmates, "I don't quite know how to say thank you for finding him in time..."

"Well, the truth is, we almost missed him," Allison confessed, "We'd actually gone past the building he was on and were about to go around the corner, when this dog came running up, barking like there was no tomorrow. It ran back into the alley as if it wanted us to follow it, and from there, we heard Brian up on the roof..."

"Was it a yellow Labrador, by any chance?" Brian leaned forward, intrigued.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Why?"

"Oh, just wondering," he smiled. Stanpovalichki had been looking out for him the whole time.

"You four have our thanks as well," Mrs. Johnson told them, grateful, "I'll admit I'm surprised it would be you that would have found him, since I'd never have thought Brian would have wanted to..."

"Well, truthfully, Mrs. Johnson, we probably wouldn't have done it up till a few weeks ago," Claire told her, "But somehow, something happened in that detention we were all in; don't ask me to explain it, but by the end of the day, we all understood each other, as if we'd..."

She was cut off again as the rest of the Shermer Simmons team now filed in as well. "You all right?" Corey immediately grilled Brian, heavy guilt on his face for what had happened earlier.

"I am," Brian nodded, "And I'm not upset anymore, Corey."

"Listen, Brian, I'm, I'm sorry," the team captain admitted, lowering his head, "I...I got too caught up in wanting to win the tournament for Dad too, and well, I shouldn't have taken the loss out on you. I guess in the end I'm not as good a captain as I thought."

"No, no, you are, Corey," Brian tried to encourage him, "You did a great job trying to get us together for this..."

"Yes, you certainly did, Son," Mr. Jacobson entered the room now and patted Corey warmly on the shoulder. "But you didn't have to win it for me," he told him, then gazed at his entire team, "Just being able to work with five kids eager to learn and work hard is reward enough for me. So, Brian," he approached the bed, "If it can make you feel any better, it has been a distinct honor to work with someone like you these last four years."

"Um, well, it does a little, sir," he nodded.

"Maybe this will too, Brian," Lori leaned past the teacher, "I did some looking back when we were looking for you, and I realized, we owe you for finishing second in the end; if you hadn't nailed those three in a row towards the end of the first match, we'd've gone home early again."

"Really?" Brian thought it over himself. The final score for the first match had been 48-44...they were right, he realized; take away just one of those right answers, which hadn't seemed all that significant at the time, and Shermer would have gone nowhere again. THAT had been what Stanpovalichki had meant. "I, I guess you're right," he mused.

"Darn right we're right," Corey slapped him on the back, "And forget about that last question too; you single-handedly brought us back from the edge in the last round. If anyone's really to blame," his expression drooped again, "it's me; if I hadn't missed those two in the second round..."

"Don't worry about that, either," came a new voice from the doorway. Brian was amazed to see the Lake Forest Central team filing in now. "What are you all doing here?" he had to ask.

"We were worried too," Jeffrey approached the bed. "Hey listen, you have nothing to be upset about," he told Brian, a deeply respectful look on his face, "You really did win out there tonight. What you helped lead in that last round was just incredible. I think ninety-nine out of a hundred people would have folded being down that much. You showed real class, and you have our deepest respect for that."

He extended his hand. Brian hesitated for a moment, then shook it. "Well, glad to make it interesting for you this year, I guess," was the best he could say, his eyes scanning unsuccessfully for Melissa at the back of the crowd, too many people unfortunately being in the way.

"Interesting?" another member of the Lake Forest Central team spoke up, "That's the understatement of the year. That was far and away the best match I've ever been a part of, and I've been in it all four years. Like Jeffrey said, what you did at the end was simply extraordinary. In fact, I..."

He stopped short as the room's door opened again, and a dark-haired woman Brian didn't immediately recognize (although he'd thought he'd seen her in the front row at the convention center earlier) came rushing in, dusting off snow. "Hello, I'd heard that...oh good, he's all right," she breathed a sigh of relief between deep gasps to see him sitting up in bed, "I'd've hated to have all this end on a sad note..."

"Uh, excuse me, you are...?" Mr. Johnson inquired, visibly confused himself.

"Oh, yes, of course. I'm Elaine Turner from the Sun-Times," she introduced herself, "I've been hoping to find the Shermer team since the match ended," she turned to them, "Then I'd heard you'd all come here, and..."

"What do you want?" Mr. Jacobson asked, although he had a look in his eye that hinted he had an idea what she was there for.

"They assigned me to cover tonight's championship match. And let me just say, I think every single person in that building was impressed with what you all did at the end there," she told the Shermer team with a genuine smile, "Including me. In fact, I think it was honestly one of the most inspirational things I've ever seen. You may not have won in the end, but I think we all fell in love with you not giving up and fighting all the way back when we'd all thought you were certain to lose big. That took incredible heart and conviction from all of you. And so, if it's all right, I've been trying to track you all down to ask permission to feature you in a full page article I'd like to write the next chance I get."

"A full page article in the Sun-Times!?" Corey's face lit up, "You're serious about that!?"

"Absolutely," she nodded warmly, as the rest of the Shermer team let out excited gasps at this terrific turn of fortune, "You all set a wonderful precedent by that tremendous comeback, and I think that might help inspire people, especially those with disabilities or who have low self-confidence, that anything is possible if they try. Oh of course, I won't forget the winners either, since they played well too," she nodded to the Lake Forest Central team, whom Brian was glad to see didn't seem to care they weren't going to get the limelight this time, "But since both teams were winners, I think making sure you both have a reward will fit the situation quite well. So don't be upset," she gave Brian a compassionate smile, "You did wonderfully and inspired everyone in that building, and I'd like to make sure a whole lot more people are inspired by you and your teammates too."

"Well then, I guess you have my consent, Ms. Turner," Mr. Jacobson nodded with a smile of his own as his team burst into ecstatic cheers, "As I've said in the..."

He was cut off as the door to the room abruptly slammed open, and a fuming Vernon stormed in. "Well, I see you're up now," he glared Brian down, roughly pushing past Turner without looking at her, "Let me just say for the record, Mr. Johnson, how furious I am; you wasted major..."

"Now come on, Richard...!" Mr. Jacobson looked furious himself.

"Stay out of this, Tom!" the superintendent thrust a finger in his employee's face, "You made us spend hours in the city looking for you long past curfew time, worried half of us stiff, and in general showed more contempt for this school district by violating every rule in the field trip guidelines, just like you violated the weapons code a few weeks ago," he glared murderously in Brian's face, "So, it's no skin off my teeth to tell you you've got another detention this coming Saturday..."

"Then you'd better give me detention too!" came Matt's indignant shout. Vernon spun towards him. "What did you say to me, Martelli?" he asked, shocked and livid.

"You heard what I said," Matt stepped between Brian and the superintendent, furious, "If you're so bent on giving Brian detention for this, Mr. Vernon, you'd better be prepared to give it to me too; I won't let you railroad him for everything after you almost sent him over the edge by being a sore loser with him tonight!"

"All right, Martelli, have it your way!" Vernon roared, "You'll be joining Johnson in detention this Saturday, and with an attitude like that...!"

"You'll have to give me detention too, Mr. Vernon," Corey joined Matt, also looking mad at the superintendent, "Matt's right; you made everything worse for Brian tonight, and this team sticks together."

"Now wait just a minute here...!"

"Better give me detention too," Lori also joined her teammates, "We wouldn't have even finished second in the tournament if it wasn't for Brian, Mr. Vernon, and we could have told him that after the match if you hadn't chased him off by chewing him out."

"I'll take one too," Josh did admittedly look worried to be crossing Vernon, but he nonetheless joined the seniors at Brian's bedside. And then, to Brian's surprise, the entire Lake Forest Central team strode over and joined their opponents. "They're right, you know," Jeffrey told Vernon sternly, "He doesn't deserve to be punished for anything, and after seeing what you did to him after the match, we'll all happily..."

"You watch your attitude with me, buster; I know your school's superintendent very well, and I can have him send you straight to detention too!" Vernon shouted at him. "And as for _you_," he glared at his team, "I can't believe all of you; for people who got so far in this tournament by being so smart, you're all acting really dumb right now...!"

"Not just them," Claire strode over and joined the academic teams. "I'll take another detention too if you insist on punishing Brian for this," she glared at Vernon.

"Same here," Andrew joined her.

"And here," Allison leaped over as well. All eyes turned to Bender in the corner. "Don't you even think about it, John Bender!" Vernon warned him, "You take one step over here, and you're out for good! I mean it, mister!"

"Ah, shove it, Dick," Bender casually strolled over and joined everyone else, "After all, Saturdays just wouldn't be the same if we weren't together," he told his nemesis mockingly, "You complete me."

"You!" Vernon thrust his finger in the criminal's face, "I know you're behind this somehow! You warped Johnson's mind in that last detention, and now you've warped everyone else...!"

"EEEEEEEEP! Sorry, wrong answer, Dick," Bender folded his arms across his chest and yawned confidently, "And by the way, if you want to go ahead and throw us all in detention despite the solidarity we've just seen, perhaps the school board, and probably the press too," he glanced slyly at Turner over Vernon's shoulder, "would love to know that you openly gambled on the outcome of the finals. I think that-plus assaulting a student, as all of us saw you do earlier-is a bigger violation of the school code than running out on a field trip, don't you, Dick?"

"How dare you, you arrogant little cretin!" Vernon roared at him, "Well, Mr. Bender, what makes you think the school board or the press is going to believe someone like you, even if it was true that I gambled on anything!?"

"Well I think these are rather serious accusations," Turner strode towards him, frowning, "So I..."

"Mind your own business, lady!" Vernon told her off roughly, "I'm superintendent of the Shermer School District, and you're..."

"Elaine Turner, Chicago Sun-Times," she furiously flashed her press pass at him, bringing Vernon to abrupt silence, "And it appears there's another story here besides the one I originally came here for, one perhaps concerning teacher corruption at Shermer High. Because I saw you get physical with this boy too," she pointed at Brian, "not to mention that you apparently said some pretty nasty things towards him as well for no good reason. So I hope that's not the only skeleton in your closet..."

"I have nothing to hide, lady, and I don't like you jumping on my back over...!"

"Nothing to hide, Dick? I don't think so," Bender stepped forward, a massive grin spreading on his face, "I can tell you a load of things about Dick here," he casually put his arm around Turner, "Let's start with a few weeks ago in detention, where Dick took me into his office and did everything he could to goad me into hitting him so he could..."

"That's a bold-faced lie!" Vernon bellowed, purple with rage, "You cannot believe a word John Bender says, miss; he's in detention every single week and has no respect for me or any authority...!"

"Then she'll believe me. My father's one of the richest men in Shermer, after all," Claire stepped forward as well, angrily scowling at Vernon as she put an arm around Bender, "Everything Bender can tell you is the truth," she told Turner, "In fact..."

"I'm warning you, you're on thin ice already, Miss Standish...!"

"Go to hell, Mr. Vernon!" she shouted furiously at him, leaving him sputtering in shock, "If Brian had killed himself tonight, it would have been your fault! You deserve to go down for it, and you will! Anyway," she turned back to the reporter, "yeah, he did try and goad Bender into getting himself expelled in that detention; I was in it too, so I know it for a fact. In fact, Mr. Vernon coldly bullied all of us that day, made us feel like dirt. We can all vouch for it..."

"She's lying to cover up for him!" Vernon all but screamed, "John Bender is a terrorist at Shermer High, he's corrupted Miss Standish here to do his bidding for him, and I can guarantee you, miss, that absolutely no one else will vouch for a word he says...!"

"Wrong. I'm going to back him up," Mr. Jacobson spoke up sharply, looking outraged at his boss, "You've been out of line all night, Richard, and I think the school board's got to know about that-and if the press does too, so be it."

"Are you threatening me, Tom!?" Vernon shouted angrily at him.

"Yeah, I guess I am," the team instructed nodded, unmoved by the superintendent's ire, "And for your information, Richard, once the entire school board learns you shoved Brian after the match-after you screamed so maliciously at him to begin with-then not even Rooney'll be able to stop them from putting an ad in the paper for a new superintendent, effective immediately."

A wry smile crossed his lips, as if he'd been waiting years to say that. For the first time since Brian had know Vernon, a degree of fear crossed the superintendent's face. "Uh, well, Johnson," he hastily bent down over the boy, "I, uh, guess everyone does sort of have a point; I guess I got a little, well, carried away earlier. I, uh, want you to know I didn't mean anything by it, so, uh, no hard feelings, huh?"

"Sorry, Mr. Vernon," Brian shook his head, "But you've also been too hard on my friends, too," he glanced at his former detention associates, "So I think they deserve an apology too from..."

"Oh come on!" Vernon shouted, immediately dropping the charade, "John Bender your friend, Johnson...!?"

"He is now," Brian nodded firmly, "Especially since I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for him, so I think you especially owe him an apology. Look, Mr. Vernon," he leaned forward and looked the superintendent in the eye, "I've always had the deepest respect for you, just like I've respected every teacher I've ever had, and I'm telling you what I'm telling you because I still respect you, and I don't think you're a bad man deep down. But you really need to change the way you look at the world. You only see what's on the outside; you showed that much just now. And you can't look at the world that way and expect to make a difference. I realized when I was in detention I needed to change the way I looked at the world; all of us realized we needed to change," he nodded at the rest of the Club, "And we have all changed for the better, and if we can do it, so can you. Please, Mr. Vernon, listen to me if no one else; you can't stay brainwashed your whole life and make something positive out of it. If you keep on blinding yourself to the fact there's more to people like Bender, who showed tonight he can be selfless and courageous when..."

"You know what, Johnson, just forget it; there's no point trying to reason with a complete fool like you who'd think John Bender amounts to two cents!" Vernon snarled contemptuously, emphatically choosing to remain brainwashed, "And furthermore, you've turned into a total idiot lately, so there's no reason I...!"

"Hey!" livid, Mr. Johnson stormed over and grabbed Vernon by the trench coat, "You will not talk to my son that way! Oh, and by the way, I distinctly DO remember seeing you shove Brian after the match, right before you told him, so I've heard, you would have loved to give him the gun back to, 'finish the job,' was it!? Well nobody gets away with that on my watch!"

"N-N-Now look, it, it, it wasn't a shove," Vernon made a last ditch effort at damage control, "This whole thing is all just a big misunderstanding..."

"Misunderstanding my...foot, you gutless coward!" Mr. Johnson changed his wording mid-sentence upon realizing Mary would hear what he'd say, "I'll see you in court, Vernon! Now get out of here!"

He gave Vernon a hard shove of his own. Vernon sputtered loudly, totally defeated. "You're mad," he snarled defensively at everyone in the room, "Every last one of you is mad!"

"Want to bet, Dick? Oh yeah, I forgot, you already bet, and you lost-in more ways than one," Bender was smiling wryly, exultantly triumphant to see his foe going down, "But before they toss you to the curb, I just want to say, my years with you were the best I ever had, Dick. I salute you."

He gave the superintendent a contemptuous salute. Vernon roared in frustration and stormed out the door, kicking the garbage can so hard on the way out that he substantially dented it. No sooner had he disappeared from view than the Lake Forest Central instructor stuck his head in the door. "Well, I think it's about time we get going now," he told his team.

"Right, Coach," Jeffrey responded. "Well, good night then," he told the whole Shermer team, "And regardless of the final score, I think you're champions."

He followed his teammates out the door. "He's right, you are champions," Turner told them as well with her own smile, "And the whole Chicago area's going to know it. I'll give a call to set up the time, then," she informed Mr. Jacobson.

"Let me give you my number then," he scribbled it out on a spare piece of paper and handed it to her, "And thank you so much for this."

"I felt your team deserved a reward. And don't worry about your hard-hearted colleague; everyone's going to know about him too when I get done," she let out a low laugh that prompted Bender to raise her arm high in celebration. "Well, good night, all; see you soon."

She exited the room as well. "I don't believe it, the smartest kid in Chicago said we were champions," Josh was awed.

"On top of that, a full page article in the Sun-Times!" Lori was ecstatic, "I don't think they've ever gotten that, even when it was clear they were becoming a dynasty!"

"Hell, I don't think the basketball team even got that when they won the state championship three years ago!" Corey let out an excited cry that prompted whoever was in the room next door to yell at him to shut up. "And," he turned to Brian, "We have you to thank for this for not giving up, Brian, so be happy about it."

"I, I am," Brian nodded, delighted. This was certainly turning out better than he'd expected. He joined his teammates in a high five (Matt, though, his sense of humor now back, missed on purpose and pretended to fall on his face, cracking everyone in the room up). I'd say this calls for a celebration," the team captain proclaimed, "If it doesn't conflict with the newspaper article, I'm open for dinner Friday at Chris's Grill at seven."

"Well for one thing, though, let's not let it get to our heads," Mr. Jacobson advised his son and his teammates, "While this is wonderful, let's not get egotistical about it." Then he smiled. "Nonetheless, I am proud of all of you. Even without a victory, tonight really was the crowning achievement of Shermer High's academic system. Well, anyway, it is getting late now, so let's leave Brian have some rest."

"Sleep well, pal; you did good, real good," Corey gave Brian's hand a firm shaking before he followed the rest of the team out. Matt, though, hung around a little longer. "So, all that time you were saying you felt you weren't good enough to be on this team, how does that feel now?" he asked his best friend, his eyebrows raised knowingly.

"I'm never been more glad to say I was wrong, Matt," Brian told him, "And thanks for what you said to Mr. Vernon; I appreciate that you'd care that much."

"That's what friends are for," Matt nodded, "True, I'm still trying to process that I actually just yelled at a teacher..."

"If it's any consolation, Martelli, Dick long ago forfeited any goodwill for his position," Bender snorted behind him, "So don't be upset; in fact, consider what we all did a plus."

"You have an interesting way with words, John Bender. But in this case, I like that," Matt gave him a strong pat on the back that almost sent Bender sprawling. "And as my way of saying thanks," he told the rest of the Club, "Consider yourself invited to the party Corey just mentioned too."

"Well, if you insist," Allison told him, but she looked appreciative of the offer nonetheless.

"Of course I do," he gave her arm a vigorous pumping. "Well, have a good night's sleep," he told Brian in parting, "But before the sandman comes, stay awake for one more surprise I think you're going to like."

He made a grand show of pirouetting out the door. Brian frowned. "One more surprise? What's that about?" he asked his former and now perhaps future detention associates.

"Oh, I wouldn't know," Andrew shrugged, but he had a gleam in his eye that hinted he knew more than he was willing to immediately let on. "Well, I guess then we've all got a reunion on Saturday if Mr. Vernon's word sticks," he mused out loud.

"It's not going to stick, Clark; Dick's goose is already cooked; the school board'll have his head mounted on their wall in no time flat once all this leaks out," Bender predicted confidently.

"Too bad, I was hoping he'd at least try to hear me out on what we all learned," Brian shook his head softly. Rough as Vernon had been on him all night, and much as he agreed Vernon deserved everything that had befallen him in the last few minutes, he hadn't been lying when he'd said he still had respect for the man.

"Well you can't expect everyone to change when given the chance, Brian," Allison shook her own head, "It was just too late for Mr. Vernon, I suppose. Maybe the five of us are luckier than we realize to have seized the opportunity when it came. Well, anyway, even if Mr. Vernon does get all these detentions upheld, I don't think it'll be a tightly run a detention as last time."

"I guess I can live with that," Brian shrugged, "And thanks for standing up for me too, guys," he smiled at them, "That really meant a lot, even though you didn't have to sacrifice your weekends for me. You know, I couldn't find any of you all through the match and thought you'd decided not to come; I've never been so glad to have been wrong."

"We all made that pact, Brian; we had to..." Claire trailed off yet again, her eyes focusing on the door and a smile now spreading on her lips. Brian turned to follow her gaze. His heart rate immediately skyrocketed: it was Melissa, and there was a look of nervous apprehension on her face as she approached his bed. "Hi there," she greeted him softly.

"Uh, hello," he responded, sweating, "Uh, what, what brings you back here? Aren't you going to miss your ride back to Lake Forest?"

"I'm getting a ride from my parents; there's a lot I'm going to need to tell them after this," she admitted, looking somewhat uncomfortable and more than a little guilty, "I, well, had more to say than the rest of my teammates, but I wanted to wait until we were alone...well, reasonably alone," she acknowledged they were far from alone at the moment.

"OK, but I can't quite see what you'd have to say that the rest of your team didn't already cover," Brian told her.

"Oh it's more than the match, actually," she told him, a look of gratitude crossing her face, "This is about what you did for me tonight, Brian Johnson."

"Huh?" he frowned, "I'm...I'm afraid I don't understand..."

"Let me explain then," Melissa dragged over the last unoccupied chair in the room to the head of the bed and sat down in it. "I committed to Northwestern back in September," she began, "Their physics department was the best one I saw in all the brochures I got from the other colleges. As the year went on, everyone else in my class committed one by one, and it soon became clear I was going to be the only one among them to be a Wildcat; half my class seemed to be going out of Chicago, even out of state," her expression substantially fell, "And to be honest, knowing that made me feel horribly alone in the world, like I was standing along on the edge of a cliff."

She sighed miserably. "On top of that, the closer it's gotten to graduation, the looming knowledge that I'm going out into the real world's gotten worse and worse. And that's scared me; it really, really scared me," she lowered her head, "I didn't feel ready for it at all. Knowing I'll be starting at the bottom again...that essentially I'll be a nobody right away in college, and all alone at that, rather than at least somebody in high school in a narrow group that I did fit in with...it's a terrifying thought, and it's just gotten worse and more overwhelming with each passing day for me. I can't even count the number of nights in the last two months that I didn't get to sleep at all, or when I did that I cried myself to sleep; that's how terrible the dilemma's been for me."

"Well I understand where you're coming from; I've felt a little nervous about graduation for the same reason, actually," Brian confessed to her, "But I still can't understand why you..."

Melissa quickly unzipped her purse and dumped its contents on the nightstand. Brian's eyes went wide when he saw what had been inside: rat poison, at least fifteen packets of it. "I'd decided I had nothing left to live for, that the real world would have been too much for me to handle," Melissa confessed somberly as everyone in the room gasped in shock, picking up what she'd intended to do, "I was going to sneak out after the match, win or lose, find a secluded place, and take every last bit of this. I'd convinced myself it was the only option I had, and I would have gone ahead with it if...what?"

Brian's mind flashed back to earlier in the evening. So the look on Melissa's face throughout the match hadn't been determination at all, he realized; it had been indifferent depression. And then Stanpovalichki's nightmarish reality came back to him, and he realized with horror that it wouldn't have been some anonymous bum the medics would have found dead in that alley below him when he'd woken up in the nightmare..._it would have been her_...

"I'm...I'm sorry," he managed to say, "You...you couldn't tell anyone?"

"As far as my parents were concerned, I was living the perfect life; I don't think they'd've believed me," Melissa shook her head, "Probably no one would have believed me; smart people like us aren't supposed to have these kinds of problems as far as most of the world's concerned."

She leaned closer to him. "But when I looked in the program before the match, and saw you'd be going to Northwestern for physics too...I can't really describe it, but that made me feel a whole lot better," she told him, her expression brightening, "Knowing someone I'd be in college with made everything look a lot less bleak for me. And then, when you ran off in tears after the match, I saw how worried everyone was for you, and I realized how much I'd be hurting everyone I care for if I'd gone ahead and killed myself. And I knew then and there I had to find you and thank you for showing me, even without realizing you had, how much of a mistake I would have been making. So I was out looking for you for close to an hour before I got the word they'd brought you here."

"It's true, Brian," Allison spoke up, "We ran into her when we were searching for you ourselves. And we could tell she was really, truly worried about you; we could see it in her eyes. Before you woke up, she was crying so hard when she came in to see you, so we knew you had to have impressed her a lot somehow. Of course, we didn't know..." she glanced at Melissa almost apologetically for having not known of her dire circumstances.

"It's all right; no one else picked it up either," Melissa absolved her, "I covered my feelings up so well that no one had a clue what I was planning." She turned back to Brian. "But it's true, I was really worried for you, Brian..."

"You...you actually spent a whole hour out there looking for me on your own?" he was still floored at the thought, "You don't even really know me..."

"Maybe not, but I feel like I've gotten to know you tonight over these last few hours, and it's clear to me you're someone who deserves to live. And besides, it was the least I could do for you after you gave me an anchor of familiarity to latch on to for next year. So please don't feel bad about anything that happened tonight, Brian; you may not have won the match for your team in the end, but you are a hero as far as I'm concerned," breaking into a definite smile now, Melissa gently took his hand, "You saved my life tonight-really, you did, Brian," she nodded warmly at him when he leaned backwards, stunned to be hearing what he was hearing, "I know deep down I would have gone ahead and killed myself if you hadn't been on that stage tonight; I saw no one else on your team's going to Northwestern, so I'd've still thought I was going to be completely alone in the new world that's ahead of us. So I really can't begin to thank you enough for being there and showing me that I won't be alone."

"I...I...I..." he stammered for something to say, "Well, uh, Melissa, if, if there's anything I can do to help make the transition to college better for you..."

"Actually, maybe the question should be what I can do for you," Melissa leaned closer to him with an even deeper smile, "I was talking to Matt while we were waiting for you to wake up, and he mentioned how you've felt miserable thinking you're the only one in Shermer High without a date for the prom."

"Well, that is a bit of an exaggeration; Matt does tend to..."

"Regardless," she took hold of his other hand, "I'd be more than happy to go out with you on prom night. Consider that a more formal way of me saying thank you for everything you've done for me tonight."

"You'd...you'd...you'd actually want to go out with me!?" he was dumbfounded, "I...well...you...there's no one else from your school...?"

"They've always thought I was too smart too," she shook her head sadly, "You're not the only one who's spent dance nights at home wondering if you were good enough for anyone-Matt told me about that too. In fact, he told me all about you-and how you seem to have had a crush on me since the competition in freshman year..."

"He didn't...I...well...I..." he turned away guiltily.

"Don't be ashamed," Melissa gently took his chin and turned his head back towards her, "Don't be ashamed at all, Brian; you don't know how much it means to me to know you feel that way about me. I'd given up hope that any boy would ever have feelings for me. I really, really appreciate it so much that you care for me."

"Well...I...yes, yes I do," he started nodding softly, "I do like you a lot, Melissa. I've looked at girls before, but there was always something about you that stood out, something that said that you're someone special...thank you for taking all that time looking for me."

"Don't mention it," there was genuine affection in her eyes as she looked at him now, "Oh, and going by what everyone else told me about you too," she nodded at the rest of the Club, "I can say you're exactly the type of boy I've been hoping I'd find for a long time now: sweet, loyal, hard-working, honorable; everything I really value in someone. So don't ever think that you're not good enough for me, Brian; you have everything I'd ever want just the way you are."

Words failed Brian. It was hard to believe he'd been in total suicidal misery not more than an hour or so ago, or whenever he'd last been fully conscious before now; now he had a place in a major newspaper article and, it appeared, the love of a stunningly beautiful girl. Why had he ever thought of killing himself, he thought to himself? Had he known all this had been waiting for him after the match...

"Sorry folks, visiting hours are over," a nurse stuck her head through the door.

"Just a minute, OK?" Melissa told her. "Before I go," she dug out a pencil and piece of paper and scribbled down what appeared to be her phone number. "Here. Call me the next chance you get," she told Brian, placing the paper on the nightstand, "I'd, well, like it if we got together at least once before the prom-if your answer's yes, that is..."

"Yes? Of course it's yes," he was smiling broadly himself now, "How could I not say yes to someone...well, someone as beautiful as you are...what?"

Melissa sniffed happily. "You're the first person my age that's ever said that to me," she looked touched, "I guess it takes a brain to appreciate another brain in the end."

"Well they're fools not to appreciate how beautiful you are," he declared, unable to believe he was actually getting to tell a girl this, "I've known that about you since I first saw you three years ago, Melissa. I just could never get up the nerve to say anything, always thinking you wouldn't want anything to do with me, feeling I wasn't good enough for you. Well anyway, yeah, I'd be glad if we got together before the prom; maybe you can show me how far along you are on that rocket..."

"Oh, you want your name on it too?" she teased him, "Oh, and one more thing before I go," she reached into her purse and pulled out, to Brian's surprise, her first place trophy from the evening's match. "Here," she placed it on the nightstand next to her phone number, "You deserve this a lot more than I do. Besides, I have three others at home already; I don't need another one. And thank you again, Brian, for just being you," tears of joy flooded her eyes, "I owe you so much tonight...I owe you my life..."

She flung her arms around him in a big hug. In that moment, Brian felt something wonderfully warm passing through himself. It was a magical feeling, one that got even better when he felt Melissa plant a deep kiss on his cheek, and he hoped the two of them could continue to share that feeling for a long, long time to come. Much like his mother, Melissa held the embrace for a long time before finally letting go. "Have a good night's sleep, Brian; you've earned it," the warmest of smiles was still entrenched on her face as she gathered up all the rat poison packets and dropped them in the dented garbage can as she left. Brian pinched himself to make absolutely sure he wasn't dreaming. And it was clear it was wonderfully, wonderfully true: he was in love, and she loved him in turn...

There came steady applause from across the room. "Well, it looks like someone finally got the girl," Andrew was grinning from ear to ear.

"I...I can hardly believe it," Brian stammered, still on a high from the encounter, "What exactly did you guys say to her while I was out?"

"Oh, just that we all thought you were a great and honorable guy, and that she'd be making a colossal mistake if she didn't go on at least one date with you," Claire admitted with a wide grin of her own, "Looks like we didn't need to in the end, since it looks like she made her final decision about you before she got to the hospital, but if we did help her make that decision in any way, we're glad to have helped. And it looks like you really lucked out too, Brian; we can all tell she's a really sweet girl deep down."

"You'd...you'd all do that for me?" it was his turn to look touched, "You'd all...?"

"You've more than earned a chance for true love, Brian," she told him encouragingly, "You deserve her. And she absolutely deserves you."

"I'll say she does," Mr. Johnson approached the bed one more time to give his son one last hug for the night, "I always knew my son would make a wonderful husband for someone." He too held the hug for a long time before letting go. "We'll be on the cell if you need us, Brian," he told him warmly, "Sleep well; you did really good tonight."

"You are a winner; you would have been regardless of what happened tonight," his mother reiterated, giving him a parting kiss of her own. "Be nice in saying good night to your brother, Mary," she told her daughter firmly.

"I'm glad you're not dead," Mary rambled quickly without looking at her brother. There wasn't much affection in her tone at all-but Brian did notice the usual murderous overtone was gone. Perhaps she was taking the first steps towards seeing him in a better light. Or, then again, maybe not. But at the moment, he didn't care. "Guys," he hailed the rest of the Club down before they could leave, "If there's anything I can do for you for this..."

"Like what?" Bender snorted, apparently still not at the point where he'd completely buy the sincerity.

"For one thing, dinner, next Saturday, my treat, to go with the one my team invited you to," Brian laid it out for him. "And Bender, you were wrong in detention..."

"Well thanks a lot, Johnson!"

"...you were wrong that the world didn't care what happened to you. I certainly care, and I think everyone should care. I'll make sure everyone cares from here on, I promise you that. I'll do it for all of you, actually," he smiled at the rest of them, "You upheld the bargain for me; I'll uphold it for you. You were all champions tonight too, and don't ever forget that, because no matter what happens from here on, you all amounted to a lot tonight."

"We all really appreciate that, Brian," Allison looked moved, "But you don't have to do anything for us. Knowing you're going to be OK is reward enough for us. Have a good night."

She was the last one out of the room, and thus flicked off the lights. Brian sank down into bed, feeling better than he had since...since he could even remember. And yet, he still felt he needed to do something for them...

"Hey Romeo," came Stanpovalichki's voice at the window. The homeless man and his dog were standing on the ledge. Grinning, Brian walked over. "Have you been there all this time?" he asked knowingly.

"Oh, maybe, maybe not," Stanpovalichki shrugged playfully, "See now what you would have missed if you'd jumped or chosen to freeze to death up there?"

"Yeah, I do, and I can't thank you enough for showing me everything you did. All this time I was looking in the mirror and hating what I saw, I guess I wasn't looking close enough at who I really am. But, I do have one last request," Brian leaned close to the glass, "I you could help make my friends' lives better too...consider it my way of repaying them for tonight...if you could help make their parents understand, or make sure their lives work out..."

"Well, can't make any guarantees, but I'll certainly give it a try," Stanpovalichki smiled mischievously, "Have a great life, kid; it certainly looks like you've got one."

A strong gust of wind blew across the ledge, and the homeless man and his pet appeared to disintegrate into the snow. Brian smiled as he trudged back to the bed and sank under the covers. It may have been brutally cold outside, but at the moment he felt oh so warm inside. Tonight, without question, he knew he'd won first prize.

THE END


End file.
